


Under My Left Ribs

by SeeThemFlying



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Eyre Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, jane eyre au, regency au, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:53:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24363112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeThemFlying/pseuds/SeeThemFlying
Summary: He shone. He smirked.He's despicable,Brienne would tell herself, just so she did not forget.Despicable.A Jaime/Brienne Jane Eyre AU.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 180
Kudos: 272





	1. No Net Ensnares Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [resthefuture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/resthefuture/gifts).



> As some of you may know, I have started a Jane Eyre AU in my prompts collection and have now decided to turn it into a fully fledged fic! resthefuture prompted for more on tumblr, so I gifted it to her! It does not follow Jane Eyre beat for beat, but I hope you enjoy; I have six chapters planned out, and hope to get them to you soon-ish. Thanks so much for reading!

Although the sun had already set, Tommen would not go to sleep until Brienne had sung him his third song.

"But Miss Tarth!" he objected when Brienne made to leave the room. "Ser Pounce has not had _his_ favourite song yet. How can you expect him to sleep?"

As if to voice his agreement, the little cat curled up besides Tommen purred. Miss Tarth smiled, even as she shot a furtive look at the old grandfather clock.

 _There is still time,_ she told herself. _It is not too late._

Even though she could hear the music downstairs, Brienne felt obliged to make the little boy happy. He had had so little happiness in his short life, after all. Consequently, although her skirts were large and voluminous, Brienne perched down on his bed, trying not to disturb Ser Pounce. "And what is Ser Pounce's favourite song, Master Lannister?"

" _The Bear and the Maiden Fair,_ of course!" Tommen grinned, unable to keep his excitement hidden.

"You surprise me," Brienne grinned. "I would have thought you would pick _The Rains of Castamere._ "

Tommen wrinkled his nose. "Why? That's a scary song."

"It's your family song," Brienne reminded him. "Your grandfather's song."

"It's still scary," Tommen insisted, running his chubby little fingers through Ser Pounce's fur.

In spite of his childish pout, Brienne supposed Tommen was right. Tywin Lannister had used his position as Lord Paramount of the Westerlands with ruthless efficiency and _The Rains of Castamere_ only commemorated that. He had made use of the new railway technology to insist a trainline be built from King's Landing to Lannisport. Once in place, he set his people to work in the mines under Casterly Rock, bringing to the surface as much coal - or black gold, as he called it - as possible. Only the Vale could rival the Westerlands for the amount of coal it produced, which powered the miserable mills and forsaken factories, but at least Lord Jon Arryn did not exploit his own people in the cold and dark mines the way Tywin Lannister did. Tywin's ruthlessness was legendary, as was the easy way he dealt with his business rivals; the Reynes and Tarbecks knew all too well. Given the reputation sung of in _The Rains of Castamere_ , Brienne had therefore been quite nervous when she had received an answer from Tywin to her note in the _King's Landing Chronicle_ newspaper advertising her service as a governess. Although the Tarth name had once been great, it had fallen on hard times, so after her father's death Brienne had been obliged to find some way to support herself. It was not as if she was ever going to find herself a husband, after all, given the way she looked. Therefore, she had found herself taking the train to Casterly Rock to look after Tywin's two younger grandchildren; Myrcella and Tommen.

From the minute she had met them, Brienne had been instantly aware that the two children hungered for family. Myrcella was a sweet girl of ten, who was confident in sewing and singing, painting and poetry, but hid a shadow behind her eyes. Yet, because of her ability to pretend, Brienne thought that, one day, she would make a very accomplished young lady. Tommen was a more rambunctious lad of eight, who only seemed interested in eating sweets and his cats. In the evenings, Brienne often found herself reading him stories, even though she had only really been brought in to help their children with their education; High Valyrian for Tommen, needlework for Myrcella. But when they begged her for affection, how could Brienne say no? Their father had been away in the colonies, their elder brother at boarding school, and their mother was apparently long dead.

They were children. They needed love. Brienne was willing to give it to them.

"Alright, Master Lannister," smiled Brienne, "I won't sing you _The Rains of Castamere. The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ it is!"

"Yay!" cried Tommen, scaring Ser Pounce into jumping off the bed and running to the pillow in the corner were Boots and Lady Whiskers were curled up together. " _The Bear and the Maiden Fair!"_

"Hush, Master Lannister," said Brienne gently, smoothing his golden fringe out of his eyes. "I will only sing if you lay down and close your eyes, it is time to sleep."

Tommen obeyed at once - he was an amiable child - so Brienne settled her hands and began to sing.

" _A bear, there was, a bear, a bear..._ "

The song was so familiar to her that Brienne could sing without thinking; the words just rolling off her tongue. Washed away by the melody, she found her mind drifting to other things... much more pleasant things.

_Mr Jaime Lannister in his new suit..._

She had not liked Mr Lannister at first. After Lord Tywin left on business, Brienne had been close to abandoned in the West Wing of Casterly Rock with Myrcella, Tommen, and the strange noises in the attic that she dare not investigate for months and months before Mr Jaime Lannister finally made his appearance.

"Is that a woman?" he had asked the under butler when he first saw her across the room, his lips locked in a snarl.

"That is Miss Tarth," the answer came. "The children's new governess."

Curious, he had stepped forward to look at her, his eyes a map of every place he had ever been. Brienne could only swallow nervously. His gaze washed over her, a burning light within; it was strangely predatorial. Notwithstanding his rudeness, Brienne could not help but notice he was ethereally handsome, with that shining golden halo of hair and those moss-green eyes. An angel, in spite of all the bad rumours that surrounded him.

"Turn around," he had ordered, twirling his hand in the air.

She had blushed. "Why?"

"I want to see you."

Brienne had pressed her mouth into an irritated line as he smirked at her. "Excuse me, _ser._ I may be a poor, obscure, plain, and little governess, but I am not your toy. You pay me to look after your children, not twirl around for you like some painted doll in a music box."

For a brief moment, Brienne had thought Mr Jaime Lannister looked impressed at her firm resistance, but then it quickly passed when he began to laugh. "Who said anything about you being _little?_ "

Embarrassed, Brienne had retreated from the room, determined not to speak to him at all, but that had soon proved impossible. During the day she felt as if she were stuck in a labyrinth, the blond haired Minotaur mere rooms away, ready to devour her. As he paced around his study with the door open, writing letters, she would catch sight of him out of the corner of her eye as she helped Myrcella with her needlework.

He shone. He smirked.

 _He's despicable,_ Brienne would tell herself, just so she did not forget. _Despicable._

And yet even when Mr Jaime Lannister was not in sight, Brienne felt his presence. As Lord Tywin was often away, Miss Tarth soon found she was Mr Lannister's only company in the evening. They would sit in front of the fire together, Mr Lannister drinking glass of wine after glass of wine, talking and talking, while Brienne would remain silent.

"Tell me about Tarth," he ordered, his perfect countenance bathed in orange light.

"It is known as the Sapphire Isle," Brienne replied stiffly.

"Why?"

"For the blue of its waters."

Mr Lannister had tilted his head in surprise. "Oh? You surprise me."

"Why?" Brienne had asked, mimicking his earlier questions.

"I doubt the waters are the bluest thing on Tarth."

Confused, Brienne had tried to explain away the popular myth. "There are no _actual_ sapphire mines there. That is just a legend. Untrue, of course, or I would be much richer than I am."

Although she was not exactly a witty person, Brienne expected Mr Lannister to laugh at her joke. However, he just narrowed his perfect eyes at her, making a strange thrill run up her spine. "I was not speaking of the sapphires, Miss Tarth."

Not brave enough to ask him what he _was_ speaking of, Brienne had looked into the fire and committed herself to a dutiful silence.

" _The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair.._."

As Brienne finished her song, she was gratified to see that Tommen had fallen asleep, letting out huffing little breaths. Leaning forward, she pecked a quick kiss on his forehead, before turning around to blow out the candle beside his bed. After straightening her skirts, Brienne left the room, trying to ignore the sounds of the howling wind and the creaking coming from the attic.

 _There's still time,_ she told herself, _still time._

Two moons ago, Miss Margaery Tyrell had started calling on Casterly Rock. She had come to the Westerlands for the air, and wanted to make _friends,_ as she put it. Rich, handsome, widowed Jaime Lannister was just the sort of _friend_ she wanted, so Brienne was forced to sit in as a chaperone on her endless visits. Miss Tyrell would play the piano and make eyes at Mr Lannister and he would smile back. The pair of them would then walk around the gardens, arm in arm, forcing Brienne to walk two paces behind listening to their inane conversations.

"Oh, isn't the weather at the Rock simply wonderful?"

"Do you like flower-pressing, Mr Lannister? I have a wonderful collection from Highgarden back at home."

"You must meet my brother Loras. I am sure you will get on brilliantly."

As Brienne traipsed after them in mute silence, she would tell herself over and over that there was no point in being jealous. It was not as if Mr Lannister was even polite to her at the best of times, so why did she feel as if she wanted to rip Miss Tyrell's eyeballs out and throw her into the ornamental pond?

What were a few stolen conversations around a fire? Really? What were a few burning gazes?

Yet, even in spite of all the practical things Brienne repeatedly told herself, after Mr Lannister had promised Miss Tyrell a ball in Casterly Rock's grand reception room, he still approached Brienne after her rival had departed, a strange look in his eye.

"Miss Tarth, may I speak to you for a moment?"

She straightened her spine, not wanting to be intimidated. "Of course, Mr Lannister. Is it about Master Lannister's High Valyrian classes?"

Surprised, he shook his beautiful head and let out a gravelly laugh. "No, it is not about Tommen's High Valyrian classes."

"Then what, sir?"

Mr Lannister smiled at her, in a way that Brienne often mistook for a smirk. "Will you be coming to the ball?"

Brienne blinked dumbly, totally disarmed by his question.

"Miss Tarth," he chuckled, easily as he normally did. "Does my inquiry surprise you?"

Not knowing what he wanted, Brienne dropped her eyes to the floor. "Of course, Mr Lannister. I did not know the servants were allowed to attend..."

"You are not a servant, Miss Tarth."

She looked up at him, straight into those unnerving green eyes that made her feel quite weak. "Am I not?"

"No," he replied, stepping forward close enough so she could feel his hot breath on her face. "You are my children's governess, the closest person they have to a mother, so it would be entirely fitting if you came to the ball."

Brienne did not realise her heart had been hammering in her chest until her stomach swooped at his choice of word. _Fitting._ It sounded strangely formal in his mouth; the same mouth that had declared he was not talking of sapphire mines. In spite of the fact that there was a chance Mr Lannister was just trying to be ingratiating, Brienne suspected he meant to torment her. Consequently, she decided to answer him without a hint of emotion in her voice.

"I did not plan to. I have nothing suitable to wear."

At her statement, Mr Lannister's eyes rolled over her in a way that made her feel naked. "What is wrong with this dress?"

Brienne looked down at it. When she had arrived at Casterly Rock, Lord Tywin had insisted her clothes were not suitable to wear in front of his grandchildren, so had this blue one made by Donyse, the seamstress. It was the best dress she had ever owned, but it was still workaday and that of a servant. It looked plain and drab in comparison to Mr Lannister's tailored Stormlander suits.

"Nothing is wrong with it," Brienne said lightly, "and I am very grateful for it. It is just I am not an elegant young woman who can turn up at a ball wearing this..."

Mr Lannister did not let her finish whatever objection he was about to make. "Blue is a good colour on you, Miss Tarth. It goes well with your eyes."

As if to compliment her dress, Brienne's cheeks burned a fiery pink. She hated herself for it, especially as she could feel his eyes on her. The gods really were cruel to her by letting him torment her so. "Mr Lannister, I..."

"You are coming to the ball and that is final," he insisted. "So make sure you wear that dress and bring your dance card with you."

So that was how Brienne found herself leaving Tommen's bedroom and descending the grand staircase at Casterly Rock, her dance card clutched in her hand. With every step she took, the music from the reception room grew louder. It was a lilting waltz, the type reserved for romantic heroes and their beautiful ladies in novels.

_I wonder whether he would want to dance with me._

When Brienne finally reached the ballroom, she edged inside, and stayed clinging to the wall. The room was crowded and filled with Lord Tywin's business associates from King's Landing, bannermen and their families, and dozens of pretty young women who wanted a chance with the heir to Casterly Rock. And at the centre was the best of them; Miss Margaery Tyrell. She was wearing a perfectly cut dress of green silk, embroidered with the golden flower emblem of her house. Her hair was plaited with pink forget-me-knots and her cheeks were rouged in such a subtle way that it appeared natural.

Unsurprisingly, she was in Jaime Lannister's arms.

When Brienne came to a standstill at the corner of the room, she could only watch as Mr Lannister and Miss Tyrell waltzed their way across the ballroom. Everyone else had given them space to do so by forming a neat circle around the room, allowing the pair of them the floor on which to float. Together, they looked as if they were meant to be; Mr Lannister was all strong formation and straight lines, while Miss Tyrell was a beautiful decoration. The sight was like a knife in Brienne's gut.

 _I can never be that,_ she thought. _Just the ugly governess in the plain dress._

As the pair of them twirled in front of her, Mr Lannister lifted his gaze from Miss Tyrell's perfect face and caught Brienne's eye. The stare was hot and yearning, setting off a strange spark inside the ugly governess' well-shielded heart.

 _No, that glance was just mis-aimed,_ Brienne told herself. _He meant to look at Miss Tyrell that way._

Yet every time the spin of the dance allowed him, Mr Lannister would look Brienne's way, the flash of his eye matching the green of Miss Tyrell's dress. In spite of everything she knew about herself and everything she feared about him, Brienne's heart thudded in her chest, just as it did when they sat around the fire in the evenings, talking in a way that was almost cryptic.

It was suddenly far, far too hot.

_Gods, I have to get out of here._

Lifting the hem of her skirt slightly so she could move quickly, Brienne went to turn away. However, at that moment, the music came to a stop. Unable to resist, Brienne looked over her shoulder back at Mr Lannister. Once again, he caught her eye, but instead of holding her gaze, he broke it in favour of kissing Miss Tyrell on the cheek then whispering something in her ear so scandalous it made her blush. His mouth was so close to Miss Tyrell's skin that it was almost a second kiss.

 _Fool,_ Brienne thought. _Fool. Fool. Fool._

She was running before she could stop herself, dropping her dance card on the way.

_Fool. Fool. Fool. When he first saw me, he mistook me for a man, and now dances with Miss Tyrell. Not me, never me; the ugly governess in the plain dress... ugly, ugly, ugly..._

As she reached the top of the grand staircase, Brienne thought she heard a voice - "Miss Tarth! Miss Tarth!" - but she ignored it entirely in favour of running as fast as she could back to her room. It was small and dark, with no decent view of Casterly Rock's garden, but it was hers and she could be safe in here. There was that at least. Once inside, Brienne slammed the door behind her and then locked it tight. Breathing heavily, she moved around the room, hurriedly peeling off the dress that he had lied to her about.

 _It becomes me, indeed!_ she thought scornfully. _A cruel joke, and I was too dim to see it._

The moment she was free of her sartorial shackles, Brienne laid down on her bed as naked as her nameday. Her skin felt hot, because she was imagining things that no decent woman should ever think of; roving hands, stolen kisses, filthy words, and the idea of just being taken by an unruly hateful man who had the most enchanting green eyes. Closing her eyes, Brienne wondered how heavy Mr Lannister would be if he just laid down on top of her, his hot, sweaty skin sliding against her own. What would he taste like? How would his lips meet with hers? How would he touch her? Would he teach her to touch him?

_Jaime..._

Brienne's hand was just slipping down her stomach in its quest to _do_ something about the ache between her thighs that was inspired by him when she froze, her ears pricking up.

There were noises coming from the attic...

And they sounded like footsteps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As ever, I love to hear what you think in the form of comments and kudos. I write for fun, publish for feedback :D


	2. As Much Soul As You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Tarth follows the sound of the footsteps...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is the last chapter that I have pre-written, but I hope to get the next one to you soon. This chapter is directly inspired by the 2011 film version of Jane Eyre :)

Once she had put her nightdress on, Miss Tarth ventured after the ghostly footsteps, candle in hand. Pricking her ears up, she swore she could hear a voice singing a song in the distance.

" _And who are you the proud lord said..."_

Miss Tarth wondered if it was coming from the party downstairs, but the sound of pizzicato strings soon told her otherwise. They were apparently still waltzing in the ballroom. She considered the possibility of the singer being Myrcella, but soon confirmed that not to be the case when she peeped around her bedroom door and discovered the child was lost to sleep.

_There is someone upstairs in the attic,_ Miss Tarth thought. _Singing._

Given the otherwise eerie quiet and the flitting shadows, it took all the young governess' resolve to journey to the foot of the small spiral staircase that led to the attic. Brienne had spent years diligently holding onto her courage - through abuse, pain, and neglect - but only now did she feared it would desert her. What she could not understand scared her more than man. For the first time in her life, she felt as if she had a home here with Tommen and Myrcella and... _him._ What if some awakened spirit tore that security asunder? Yet Miss Tarth was never to find out as, when she reached the foot of the stair, a door behind her opened. It was Mrs Merryweather, the housekeeper, examining her with those dark eyes of hers.

"Miss Tarth? What are you doing here at this late hour?"

Nearly jumping out of her skin, Brienne fixed the Myrish woman with a curious stare. "I was tired after dancing... so I came up to my room... but I heard a voice."

"A voice?" asked Mrs Merryweather, her brow knitted. "What voice?"

Miss Tarth shrugged. "A woman's voice. She was singing. It was _The Rains of Castamere,_ I think."

"Oh," said the housekeeper, waving a dismissive hand at Miss Tarth. "Do not worry. That was me."

"You?"

"Yes," she smiled, her brown eyes bright. "When I was a girl, I thought to be a singer. Of course such dreams evaded me, but now and then I like to practice."

Unconvinced, Miss Tarth gave Mrs Merryweather a disbelieving look. "In the middle of the night?"

Mrs Merryweather's smile collapsed abruptly. "The acoustics are better. Now, Miss Tarth, don't you think it is time you went to bed?"

"I..."

"It is getting late, and I am sure Mr Lannister will want you teaching Master Tommen his High Valyrian tommorrow morning. You will need your sleep!"

Given that the Myrish woman was now half-blocking Miss Tarth from ascending to the attic, the governess knew she had little chance but to return to her own room with only her questions for company. "Very well, Mrs Merryweather. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Miss Tarth," said the housekeeper, nodding at her in such a way it almost seemed an order.

Clearly not having any other choice, Brienne turned away and headed back along the corridor, feeling Mrs Merryweather's gaze burning into her back. If she really pricked up her ears, she could have sworn she still heard a faraway voice.

" _And so he spoke... and so he spoke..."_

* * *

Brienne rose early the next morning expecting to be awoken by the end of the song, but all she heard was silence. Quickly getting washed and dressed, she went down to the servant’s quarters in order to get a slice of bread and honey. Mr Lannister always slept in late and had the cook bring him his eggs for breakfast, especially when he had been drinking the night before, so Brienne was at least she would not have to face the ignominy of seeing him. Unfortunately, she had not anticipated the gossip.

"I expect it will be announced soon," said Mrs Graceford the cook to Senelle the scullery maid as she fried rashers of bacon. "It will be the talk of the town, maybe of the entire Westerlands."

Senelle smiled excitedly. "Maybe my Ma can make me a new dress, in Lannister gold."

"You'll be lucky," snorted Mrs Graceford, flipping the bacon over. "It is unlikely that Mr Lannister would ever invite _you."_

"Invite Senelle to what?" asked Brienne, as she took two slices of bread from the bread bin and began to butter them. At the best of times, she only had the smallest toleration for town gossip, but seeing as the children were not yet awake, she could not help but loiter for a small few moments with the cook and the maid. They were easier company than Mr Lannister.

Mrs Graceford went to answer, but Senelle beat her to it. "Mr Lannister's wedding. At the dance last night, him and Miss Tyrell went for a walk in the gardens. _Alone._ We all know what that means; it means they will be wed."

Not taking her eyes from Senelle's animated face, Brienne put the butter knife down on the counter in an effort not to drop it. "Wed?"

"Mmm Hmm," confirmed Senelle, looking at Brienne excitedly. "Isn't it romantic? Mr Lannister is heir to the Westerlands, and Miss Tyrell is the daughter of the Lord Paramount of the Reach. It is almost written already; like a song, a fairy story. Oh! How pretty she will look in her dress!"

As Senelle began twittering about silks and velvets, the image of Miss Tyrell in a beautiful white gown crossed Brienne's mind. Her hair braided with roses, a gaudy emerald at her throat, and arm in arm with Mr Jaime Lannister at the sept at Casterly Rock. The idea made Brienne's stomach sink.

_Fool,_ she thought, knowing she needed no other word to wound herself with. _Fool, fool, fool. You saw the way he looked last night, the way he stared at her. Why on earth wouldn't he pick Miss Tyrell? She's beautiful and radiant and I'm... I'm..._

Suddenly not feeling very hungry, Brienne stepped back from the counter, abandoning her bread. Mrs Graceford spotted her expression at once. "Miss Tarth, are you quite well?"

"Fine," she lied, swallowing repeatedly to keep her tears at bay. "I have just remembered I have not prepared for Tommen's High Valyrian class. I must go."

In spite of Mrs Graceford's concerned look, Brienne was about to be overcome, so she retreated from the room, not wanting anyone to see her cry.

* * *

As it turned out, Miss Tarth was not the only one unprepared for High Valyrian; Tommen was too.

"But I don't know what the genital case is!"

"The _genitive_ case," corrected Brienne gently. "It is used to indicate possession, so..."

"Is it true my father is getting married?"

Brienne snapped her head away from Tommen's pouting confusion at the question. Myrcella was sitting at the corner of the room, having finished all her Valyrian translations. Technically, Lord Tywin had forbade her from learning the language - it was unbefitting for a woman, apparently - but Brienne had let her sit in on the side and take notes. She was no lesser just because she was a girl, and in fact had an aptitude for the subject that Tommen lacked.

At that moment, Myrcella was not interested in Valyrian declensions, however, but in the servants' idle gossip.

"Where did you hear that?" asked Brienne levelly, not wanting to startle the young, motherless children.

"Everyone is talking about it. They say that my father asked Miss Tyrell to marry him at the ball last night. Is that true?"

At Myrcella's question, Tommen looked up has his governess, clearly also desperate for answers. Yet Brienne found she could not oblige them. Yes, it was very likely that their despicable father was marrying Miss Tyrell, but how could she tell them that unhappy truth before he did? It would break their little hearts. They barely even knew Margaery Tyrell.

_And it is not my place to say,_ Brienne concluded. _I am just a servant. Nothing more._

"I do not know, Myrcella, so if we can please return to the genitive case..."

"But..."

"No buts!" ordered Brienne sternly, wanting to shut this conversation down before she tore herself apart. "Now... High Valyrian."

Given her sharp tone, Tommen and Myrcella obliged her, but for the rest of the session they both watched her with uneasy eyes.

* * *

Over the next few days, Brienne was resolved to see Mr Lannister hardly at all. She decided to eat with the servants rather than with Jaime and the children in an effort to avoid him, and never took the opportunity to sit with him by the fire in the evenings to while away the hours. Whenever he sought her out, she tried to brush him away.

"Miss Tarth," he said loudly after discovering her helping Mrs Graceford organise the pantry. "Will you come and play the piano for me? I am awfully bored this evening and need some entertainment."

His green eyes glittered.

"I cannot, sir," Brienne replied firmly, not liking his game. "I am helping Mrs Graceford."

"Well, I need you to help _me_ and I am the Lord and Master here, so you will do what I say!"

There was a hint of teasing to his voice, but Brienne still refused to let him win. When forced to play him something on the pianoforte in the parlour, she decided to waltz through Mr Sevenstreams _Piano Concerto in D Flat Major_ at half its usual speed, without giving a pause between movements. It meant that Mr Lannister had no space to launch one of his cutting comments at her, and could only watch her silently as her long fingers danced across the keys. Still, she could not help but notice the way his green eyes shone so bright in the firelight or how he folded his hands over his lap as he gazed at her.

In his continued insistence at staring at her, Brienne resolved not to let him see that she was bleeding internally.

Haunted by his eyes and the ghosts in the attic, the next day, Miss Tarth sent a raven to the editor of the _King's Landing Chronicle,_ advertising her services as a governess. She informed him that she needed to find work as quickly as possible, because her old employer was soon to be married and his children would have a new mother. Although Miss Tarth loved Tommen and Myrcella dearly, she could not bring herself to watch Mr Lannister commit himself to another woman. It would be far too much, even though her upset was caused by her own stupidity and not by him.

_Fool, fool, fool, fool, fool._

Luckily, she received a fairly prompt reply, confirming receipt of the letter and that it would be placed in the adverts section of _The Chronicle_ within the week. Knowing that her time at Casterly Rock was soon drawing to an end, Miss Tarth went to inform Mrs Merryweather of her intention to leave.

The housekeeper's eyes were wide with shock. "Was it the ghost in the attic that scared you away?"

"No," replied Miss Tarth confusedly, "it is just that now Mr Lannister is to be married presently, it is best I find a new situation. His new wife is likely to want to install her own people to educate Tommen and Myrcella as she waits for the patter of tiny feet."

The housekeeper nodded understandingly. "Of course. It is only natural. Have you told Mr Lannister? Or would you like me to pass on the message?"

"If you would not mind," answered Brienne, attempting to stop her face going guilty red. "I doubt Mr Lannister wants to be troubled by my news."

With the wheels in motion for her departure, Miss Tarth decided to make the most of her time left at Casterly Rock. In her few spare moments, she set out to explore it's every nook and cranny. The castle really was one of the wonders of the world, after all. With its huge indomitable battlements it should have been terrifying; however, Brienne found it had a picturesque beauty, especially when watching the gulls fly over the western sea or walking in the gardens. On one such day, not long after she had received her reply from the editor of _The Chronicle,_ Brienne found herself strolling through the herb garden, listening to the birds sing. Tommen had been having trouble with the ablative all morning, so she wanted some fresh air and to feel unburdened for a few short hours.

No such luck was to be had, however, as Mr Lannister made his appearance.

"Miss Tarth! Miss Tarth!" he called, running after her, disturbing the bird song. "Miss Tarth!"

Not really wanting to stop and chat to him, Brienne picked up her pace, but Mr Lannister caught up with her. In the dappled light of the gardens, he looked a golden haired god, while she was an ash haired fool.

"Good day, Mr Lannister. Fare you well?"

He caught her wrist with his hand, but she did not alter her path. "I have been speaking to Mrs Merryweather."

"What about, sir?"

"I hear you are leaving us."

"Correct," she replied, unable to meet his eye. "I have sent an advert to the _King's Landing Chronicle_ in order to find a suitable post."

His green-eyed gaze grew more intense. "Why?" he asked, tugging on her arm to bring her to a halt. Feeling a little weak at his closeness, Brienne acquiesced to his demand.

"I am a free woman, sir. I can find a new post if I so wish."

If Brienne was expecting seriousness, she was disappointed, as Mr Lannister smiled at her, all teeth and dimples. "Of course, but why now? I thought you were settled."

Not wanting to discuss this with him, Brienne dropped her eyes to the floor. "I was... but things change, sir... and I need a new role, a new aim in life..."

"What if I was to find you a new situation?"

Surprised by his uncharacteristic generosity, Brienne looked up at Mr Lannister to discover he seemed quite sincere. "You do not need to do me the service, sir..."

"But what if I _want_ to?" he smiled, the curl of his lip almost transforming it into a smirk as he pulled her towards a nearby tree. "What if I could find you a new situation that would keep you happy, content and, dare I say, _satisfied_ for the rest of your life. Would you accept then?"

Unsure of what Mr Lannister was trying to say - did he already have a proposition in mind? - Brienne tried to address him in her most business-like manner, if only to root out the truth of his proposal. "If it suited my station and earned me an honest wage... I would be much obliged to you, sir."

His smile grew wider as he stepped closer. "I think I like that."

"What?"

"You being obliged to me, Miss Tarth. Throughout our friendship, I have always felt as if I am playing a game I can never hope to win. Maybe this would give me the upper hand."

Brienne almost balked at that statement. "Our _friendship?"_

"We have been good friends, haven't we?" he asked, his expression suddenly turning soft and unsure. "In the time you have been here, I felt we have built up a rapport." As he gazed at her almost tenderly with those beloved eyes of his, Brienne found it difficult to speak. In all her years alive, she had had a few friends before, but her feelings for them had never burned the way those she held for Mr Lannister did.

Eventually, "yes, sir," was all she could think of saying.

"Good," Mr Lannister smiled, his softness exchanged for some other nameless warm emotion in a moment. "Because I have such a regard for you, Miss Tarth, that I feel quite bound to you. And if you were to leave... well... that connection would surely be permanently severed, and these pretty nightingales would stop singing in my garden."

A bird swooped overhead but she hardly noticed as his eyes seemed to hold the world. In the afternoon light, Mr Lannister looked so much like the hero of a song that Brienne barely comprehended what he said next.

"But you, Miss Tarth... you would forget me, and leave without saying goodbye."

His accusation was barbed - Brienne could tell by his hardening expression - yet even so she felt compelled to fight back.

"How can you think that of me?" she asked, her voice small in the face of his heated stare. "How can you think I would go without a word?"

"You wrote to _The Chronicle_ without telling me," he replied challengingly. "After that cruelty, I could well believe you would not stop there."

"Cruelty?" Brienne spluttered, thinking of the night that he had kissed Miss Tyrell's cheek when she had hoped against all hope that he would dance with her. "Why would I be cruel to you? I have lived a good life here. I have not been mocked or laughed at, pitied or scorned, hated or derided. The servants have been pleasant, and your children are amongst the kindest and sweetest in the world. I have been allowed to breathe here and feel the wind through my hair in a way I never have been before. I have come to know you, Mr Lannister, and I will miss our conversations by the fireside, truly. It will pain me to leave you more than I can say!"

Her voice built to a crescendo, which caused Mr Lannister to try to interrupt her, but Brienne refused to let him.

"I wish it were different," she admitted, her voice almost a sob, "but I must go, and you must stay here!"

"Why? Why must you leave me?" Mr Lannister asked, seizing her shoulders in a effort to lock her in place so he could gaze at her more forcefully with those soul-searching eyes of his.

It was such a ludicrous question that Brienne almost scoffed derisively. "Because of your wife!"

"I have no wife!"

"You are to be married!"

At her exclamation. Mr Lannister exhaled sharply as if to relieve some of the tension coursing through his body, then replied in a level tone. "Brienne, you must stay."

_Brienne,_ she thought. _As if he has a right to my name._

That he had so easily stolen such familiarity angered her.

"And become nothing more to you than a statue in your collection, made to watch as you play at love? Do you think I have so little feeling to be able to bear that, especially considering all the emotion you have inspired in me these past months? I may be ugly and poor, but I have my will and my independence, and you cannot expect me to stay here and consign myself to an afterthought! It may break my heart to leave you and, by the gods, I wish I had the beauty to make our parting as painful for you as it will be for me, but I cannot stay if I have even a scrap of self-respect."

In a moment of realisation, Mr Lannister stared at her as if the sun had just risen in her eyes.

"An afterthought?" he thundered, suddenly a storm as wild as those on Shipbreaker's Bay. "You? An afterthought? I have not had any thoughts to spare on anything but _you_ since the day you entered my house. _You_ , Miss Tarth, who would not render herself my subordinate and twirl for me like a doll on a music box. _You_ , who would not play my jealous games. _You_ , who has born my foul tempers and teasing."

Not fully believing she was hearing this, Brienne could not help but stammer. "Mr Lannister... I... I..."

"And as for being ugly, you are more beautiful that I could ever be," he proclaimed, lifting one hand to cup her cheek. "You deserve the world, Brienne, and I will try my best to give it to you. You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how. You should be kissed by _me_. And you _should_ be my wife, with everything that comes with it, because it is natural and right and proper, and I know we shall be very happy together. Marry me, wench. Please, do me that honour!"

Mr Lannister moved closer, almost as if to kiss her, but Brienne pulled back, terrified of this blissful dream turned reality. "Are you mocking me?"

"Mocking you?" he asked incredulously. "I have never been more serious about anything in my life! Do you doubt me?"

Brienne could only tell him the truth. "Entirely! Miss Tyrell is your bride."

"Miss Tyrell?" Mr Lannister spluttered, halfway between laughter and anger at her wide-eyed belief. "Miss Tyrell? The pretty statue with the vacant smile? It's _you_ , you rare and unearthly thing. You, who has haunted my dreams and not left me alone. I know there are differences in rank between us but... I can hardly bring myself to care. Please accept my proposal. You _must_ be mine."

Mr Lannister's expression was so passionate and heated that Brienne did not know where to look, especially as one of his hands remained on her cheek while the other grasped at her waist almost painfully. Even though she had watched him nearly every night lit up by the glow of the fire, Mr Lannister had never looked more beautiful than in this moment.

"You love me?" asked Brienne, disbelievingly, even as the truth of the matter was written all over his beloved face.

"Completely, with heart and soul."

"You want me to be your wife?"

"I do."

As his nearness and most ardent affections overwhelmed her, Brienne could not help but acquiesce to his demand. "Then, sir, I will marry you!"

"Jaime," he murmured, just before their lips met. "My name is Jaime."

Washed away by his kiss - hot, eager, fevered - Brienne threw her arms around his neck and let him pull her tight into an embrace. His whole body was alive with the electricity of their connection and as his tongue sought out hers, she could not help but feel for the first time in her life like the lady she feared she would never be.

_Gods, the joys of being loved,_ she thought.

* * *

Consumed by her love for him, Miss Tarth did not notice the unfamiliar face watching them kissing from the upstairs window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. As always, I would love to hear what you think in the form of a comment or kudos!


	3. To Wake An Echo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne prepares for her wedding, but something strange happens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for coming back! I will be concentrating on this fic for a while, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> PS. I drop a C-bomb in this chapter, so I thought I'd better bump this up to an "M".

As soon as Lord Tywin had been informed, the happy couple's engagement was announced in _The King's Landing Chronicle._ It had only been in a small, spidery print at the bottom of the _Announcements_ page, but very soon it was the talk of the town.

_The betrothal is announced between Jaime, son of Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock and the late Lady Joanna Lannister of Lannisport, and Brienne, daughter of the late Evenstar, Selwyn Tarth, of Evenfall Hall._

Of course, not everyone was happy; the Tyrells were incensed that Jaime had led on their daughter and - shock! horror! - took her for a walk _in his garden alone._ Margaery's apparent disgrace meant that lots of people were already calling Brienne a jumped up trollop - and an _ugly_ jumped up trollop at that, considering how beautiful Miss Tyrell was in comparison to her - but at least she had some support closer to home. Lord Tywin had been surprisingly easy to persuade in relation to his son's news; according to Jaime, his father was just thankful that his son was "giving his children a mother at last". Joffrey was a little less warm, but he had written Brienne a formal, but cool, acknowledgement of her existence, stating he looked forward to meeting his stepmother at the end of the school term. Yet Myrcella and Tommen were quite the opposite; indeed, they were ecstatic, and Tommen even ended up crying with joy.

"I am so happy you are going to be my mother, Miss Tarth!" he sobbed, throwing himself into Brienne's arms instead of doing his High Valyrian translation.

"I think it is about time you called me Brienne," she smiled, stroking his silky golden hair that was so much like Jaime's, "if I am to be your mother."

The servants were polite, if a little unexcited, when Jaime told them the news as he held Brienne's hand and made the announcement to the entire household that were packed into the ballroom. Mrs Graceford and Senelle exchanged a surreptitious glance, while Mrs Merryweather stood at the back of the room, her eyes wide and her cheeks pale.

 _Does she dislike me that much?_ wondered Brienne when, after Jaime had dismissed the servants, the housekeeper came to talk to him in a low hushed voice that Brienne could not hear. As she made do with accepting the good wishes of the more cordial servants, Brienne could not help but watch them out of the corner of her eye, wondering what they were saying. Once the housekeeper finally left Jaime alone, Brienne returned to her future husband with concern in her heart.

"What did Mrs Merryweather want?" she asked, feeling incredibly worried. If she was to be Jaime's wife, she would one day be Lady of Casterly Rock. It did not bode well if the servants already disliked her, and the housekeeper at that. During his conversation with Mrs Merryweather, Jaime's expression had been one of an oncoming storm, but it lightened the second Brienne brushed her fingers against his wrist. He smiled, and scooped an arm around her waist, holding her close to him. Brienne's heart started fluttering in her chest, like a captive bird attempting to break out of the caged bars comprising of her ribs.

"Nothing much, she was just asking whether the children knew."

Brienne narrowed his eyes at her beloved. "The children? Why does Mrs Merryweather care about the children?"

Although Mrs Merryweather had worked at Casterly Rock for many years, Brienne never took her for a woman who was particularly interested in Tommen and Myrcella. Indeed, her great love seemed to be the bottles of whisky she downed daily. Nevertheless, Jaime clearly had a different view of his housekeeper.

"Oh, she's always cared for the children," he purred, pulling Brienne so close that she could think of nothing but the heat of his body and the heady smell of him, "but I told her there was nothing to worry about. You are going to be my wife, and everyone is to know... including that grumpy old cow."

Armed with his reassurance, Brienne looked deeply into his eyes - blue meeting green - and a thrill ran up her spine. "I am to be _your_ wife; can you believe it?"

"Yes," he replied, his crooked smile wondrously beautiful, imperfectly him. "I _can_ believe it, and I cannot wait for it to be official."

"You will be able to call me Mrs Lannister, instead of Miss Tarth," she said, attempting to tease him, even while nervously biting her lip.

Although she thought she had her moment of victory, Jaime came back with something Brienne was not quite prepared to counter. "More than that. I can take you to my room, spread you out on my bed, and be the only thing that keeps you warm all night."

Fire came to Brienne's cheeks at once. Of course she knew the duties a wife should perform in her marital bed - her childhood governess, Mrs Roelle, had been sure to inform her - but in her imagination they were more painful than pleasurable. The way she pictured his husband taking her maidenhead was more akin to the bloody bed of childbirth than anything else. Yet, Jaime looked at her with such excitement that it made her wonder if lying with him could be so much better than everything she feared... that if he just touched her, the coil of want slowly knotting itself in her belly would come undone as she lost herself in the pleasure of his body... of being near him, on him, under him...

"You would want that... from... from me?" she asked incredulously.

Jaime's smile grew hungry. Brienne was suddenly glad that all the servants had left the room, as he drew his mouth to her ear and began to whisper lewd things. "Yes, my dear. I want it all. Your eyes, your lips, your kiss, your breasts, your cunt. I want every piece of you, and you can take what you want of me too."

Brienne had not noticed when she started to breathe heavily, so she kept a grasp of his arm to steady himself. "I want that," she mumbled, her cheeks flushing in embarrassed desire. "More than anything."

"And you shall have it... soon. When you are finally my wife."

Unfortunately, _soon_ was far too long a time to wait. There were weeks of anticipation until the wedding, but at least Brienne could distract herself from the aching want borne of the bodily closeness and sheer physicality of her beloved by preparing her wedding dress. Not wanting any expense wasted, Jaime had sent for the finest tailor from King's Landing - a Mr Jaqen - and he had designed the most beautiful wedding dress entirely for Brienne's frame. It was made of cream silk with lace decoration and river pearls sewn onto the bodice, complete with a pair of handsome slippers. Brienne did not think she would do it justice as she stood in her bedroom with most of her female servants, admiring the work in the mirror.

"You will look beautiful, m'lady," said her new lady's maid, Senelle, once Mr Jaqen had pinned Brienne into the rough worked dress. "Mr Lannister will think you are the prettiest thing he has ever laid eyes on."

"You think so, do you, Senelle?" asked Mrs Merryweather from the door, a sceptical expression on her face. "Mr Lannister has known many beautiful women in his day, his sister for one--"

"Yet he loves Miss Tarth," chirped up Mrs Graceford suddenly, cutting the housekeeper off. "So Senelle is right. Even if Miss Tarth had to compete against the Maiden herself, Mr Lannister would still think her the prettiest thing he ever saw because he _loves_ her... and love transcends everything else."

Although Mrs Merryweather gave Mrs Graceford a dismissive look, the cook's words were enough to soothe Brienne and instil her with the confidence to embroider her own veil (against the housekeeper's advice). Even if Jaime wanted to spend all the money in the world on her, Brienne would not let him. Embroidering her veil with symbols and signs meaningful to her was what mother had done before Brienne, and her mother before that, so she wanted to honour that tradition. Jaime throwing gold coins at her would not alter her resolve.

"Are you sure, my love?" Jaime had asked. "Mr Jaqen could whip you up a veil in the latest Dornish style in no time at all."

She patted his hand; he really was too generous sometimes. "You've given me too much already. I want to bring something to this marriage."

"You are already bringing so much," Jaime whispered, his voice as sweet as a song. "You are bringing yourself."

Although she burned with joy at the compliment, in the coming days Brienne set herself up with Senelle and Myrcella in one of the thousands of medium sized rooms that littered Casterly Rock and began embroidering her veil, the only part of her wedding trousseau that was entirely hers.

"What shapes do we have to make with the lace?" asked Myrcella, running her fingers over the expensive material.

"Suns and stars," replied Brienne quickly, knowing her own mind. "Although I am an orphan with no living family, I am still a Tarth. I wish to honour that. Your family and mine will be joining, after all."

The sunny smile that Myrcella gave Brienne at that news was enough to warm her heart for the rest of the day and be able to overcome the mundane monotony of stitching and embroidering to have the veil ready as soon as possible. To complete the task, it took a full three days hard work, mostly because Myrcella needed help at working with the tulle. However, the effort was worth it, as it meant that on the day that she walked down the aisle, she would have little piece of her own ancestors with her, not just Lannister silks.

"It is beautiful, m'lady," smiled Senelle when they finally hung the completed veil over the mannequin that Jaime had specially produced for Brienne to place her dress upon. "Absolutely beautiful."

Brienne had to agree. They had stood the mannequin complete with the dress and the veil over by the window in her room to admire it, and in the early evening light it truly did look a vision. She could barely believe this was the dress she was going to get married in, as it looked like something a princess would wear.

"I am still Miss Tarth, Senelle, so don't call me m'lady yet," Brienne smiled out of habit, her eyes only for this gorgeous dress and veil that were entirely hers.

Her maid went to answer, but then Myrcella cut across her with a giggle. "Not for long, Miss Tarth. Soon, you will be Mrs Lannister... my mother."

Tywin Lannister's daughter-in-law. Myrcella and Tommen's mother. Jaime's wife. It was all too sweet, too good, too wondrous for it to truly be her life, plain Miss Brienne Tarth's life. Given how much she felt like she was living in a dream, Brienne was unsurprised that, once she sent the women away, laid down on her bed, and gazed at her dress and veil with all the joy she felt inside of her, it was very difficult to get to sleep.

* * *

One morning, not so far in the future, Brienne knew she would be awoken by the feel of her husband's warmth beside her, his hand resting on her swollen belly that was heavy with his child, and his kisses pressed into her mouth. Having been washed away to slumber with her eyes on her wedding trousseau, Brienne had dreamed of that time; of having Jaime close, of having a family, of being so filled up with his love that she could fly.

Yet that morning not yet here. The wedding was now a week away, and the day after she finished the veil, Brienne found herself not awoken by Jaime kisses, or him stirring beside her, but a song. Perhaps it was one of the maids singing it, because it seemed to echo off the walls.

" _And now the rains weep o'er her halls, with not a soul to hear..."_

Brienne opened her eyes. Soft light was spilling into the room through the gap in the curtains, illuminating everything in its path. Still filled with wonder at the dress she had ready for her wedding day, Brienne turned to look at it, so she could imagine the moment that Jaime would become her husband, and she his wife. The dress' silk appeared flowing water in the soft light - rippling in shadow and shade - while the river pearls flickered like stars in the sky. It was such a beautiful vision that it took Brienne a few minutes to realise there was no veil.

She sat up, shocked.

 _My veil,_ she thought in rising panic. _Where is my veil?_

The sun and stars of Tarth had gone, along with all the hard work that Brienne, Senelle, and Myrcella had done over the last few days to make it perfect. Getting to her feet, Brienne reached for her dressing gown, pulling it around herself to stave off the invading chill. The previous evening she had fallen asleep with her eyes on her veil, pleased that she had a hand in creating something so beautiful and delicate, when she often felt neither of those things. How could it have disappeared?

Stunned, Brienne crossed the room to the mannequin, imagining if she stared hard enough that it would reappear, but on closer inspection no miracle happened; her veil was still missing.

 _Think,_ Brienne instructed herself, _where could it have gone? Perhaps someone moved it._

Brienne's first thought was Myrcella. Her future step-daughter had struggled in embroidering the veil, but Brienne had been as supportive as she could so, eventually, Myrcella had just been happy that she had achieved creating somethiing so challenging.

 _Perhaps Myrcella took it so she could admire it,_ Brienne thought.

Needing to locate her veil, Brienne went hurriedly marching off in the direction of Myrcella's room. However, she was to be disappointed, as she discovered the girl was still asleep, lost to dreams, with no sign of the veil.

On exiting Myrcella's room, Brienne found her panic building, but it was interrupted by Senelle, who was bringing up new sheets for Jaime's room. "M'lady," the girl said, curtseying, totally forgetting Brienne's instruction to call her Miss Tarth. "What are you doing up so early?"

"My veil," stammered Brienne, trying not to get upset. "It has gone. Did you take it and put it somewhere?"

Senelle shook her head, her expression darkening. "No, I haven't seen it, m'lady. Not since we left it in your room last night. Maybe Miss Myrcella took it?"

"No, I have already checked. She's still asleep."

Senelle's brow furrowed at the mystery. "Well... maybe Mr Lannister. You know he wanted to get Mr Jaqen to make you a veil, so perhaps he wanted to take a closer look at our work... to check it was up to standard."

Brienne had not thought of that; maybe Jaime had wanted to admire her handywork before she walked up the aisle. He was never one for a surprise.

"I will go and ask him," said Brienne firmly, formulating a plan in her mind. "And would you mind going to find Mrs Merryweather? She knows this castle better than anyone. Perhaps she can help me."

With the wheels already in motion, Senelle gave Brienne a firm nod and disappeared to find Mrs Merryweather. Meanwhile, Brienne turned in the direction of Jaime's room, her heart beating furiously in her chest. She knew where Jaime's bedroom was but had never ventured inside. When she was just the governess, it would have not been proper, and now she was his betrothed, their separation was all part of the delicious longing that was slowly building up in the run up to the wedding.

She knocked three times.

No answer.

She knocked again.

"Marbrand, is that you?" came Jaime's voice from deep within, sleepy and dozy. Even the sound of him made her heart flutter.

Brienne pushed the door open. "No, sir," she whispered as she got used to the dim light in the room. "It's me, Brienne."

Having taken barely three steps into the space, Brienne found herself accosted by Jaime, who wrapped his strong arms around her, kissing her with abandon. Lost in the hot haze of his embrace, it took Brienne a few moments to realise he was as naked as his nameday.

She put a hand in the centre of his chest and tried to push him away. "Jaime..."

"I did not think you would be so brave," he whispered between more kisses, "to come and take what you want from me before we were wed, but I am so thankful you have, wench. Take what you want... take..."

His burning lusts were almost overwhelming, but Brienne somehow found the strength to push him away. "Jaime, not yet... not yet..."

"Then what are you here for?" he asked, almost grunting in frustration. "If not for me?"

Her hand still on his chest, feeling his heart beating against her palm, Brienne suddenly felt a little calmer. "Have you seen my veil? I woke up this morning and it was missing from my room."

Jaime's heated expression vanished at once. "Your veil is missing from your room?" he repeated stupidly.

"Yes. I suspected that Myrcella may have taken it to have a look at it, considering she worked so hard on it, but she is still asleep, and it is not in her room. I wondered if you had seen it, perhaps because you wanted to look at it to see if it was high enough standard for the wedding..."

"You are making it, so of course it would be of a high enough standard," Jaime said, pulling away from her and reaching for his dressing gown. "Was your door open?"

"What?"

"This morning," he said, wrapping himself in the gown. "When you woke up, was your door open?"

Closing her eyes, Brienne tried to think. She had been so worried about her missing veil that she had not noticed the other small clues that might have led her quickly to the truth. "Yes," she said, landing on the truth. "The door _was_ open. Do you think someone came in during the night?"

All at once, it was as if the clouds had drawn in, the thunder had started to roar, and the lightning flashed, as Jaime moved away from her and stalked out of the room. Brienne could do nothing but trail in his wake, wondering what on earth had piqued his anger.

Outside, Brienne found Senelle accompanied by Mrs Merryweather. It was clear she had found the Myrish housekeeper as Brienne had instructed. Curious to hear Mrs Merryweather's opinion, Brienne approached her to ask her if she had any idea where the veil had gone. However, Jaime got to her first, and spoke to the Myrish woman with all the spitting bile of an angry god.

"Brienne's veil has gone missing and her _bedroom door was open._ I need you to go and check the attic _now_ to see if it with any of the material up there!"

While Mrs Merryweather looked slightly whey-faced, Brienne gazed at her betrothed confusedly. "Why would my veil be up in the attic...?"

"A lot of discarded material ends upstairs," said Jaime angrily, not looking at her, "and it is where Mrs Merryweather keeps her supplies, so it might have got mixed up with some of her things."

That did not make much sense to Brienne. "But..."

Jaime was not listening, however, as he was still staring daggers at the housekeeper. "Mrs Merryweather, go and check the attic, _now._ Senelle, maybe... just... go and ask Mrs Graceford if she has seen anything." Senelle nodded quickly at the order, dashing off as soon as she could. Mrs Merryweather did not. She just stared at Jaime, something unsaid in her eyes. He was forced to repeat himself. "I said, go and check the attic, Taena. Do it _now._ "

Still fixing him with her deep brown eyes, Mrs Merryweather gave Jaime a slow curtsey before retreating into the darkness, armed with her order. Brienne made to follow her, but Jaime caught her arm and held her back. "Let her go. We have things to do."

"Do we?" asked Brienne, surprised that he thought there were things more pressing than finding the veil that she Senelle and Myrcella had slaved so hard on. "Like what?"

"Like finishing our morning kiss, for one."

Given that all his anger was slowly dissipating from his face, Brienne cupped Jaime's cheeks and pulled him in for a firm, but tender, kiss. "Good morning, my love."

"Good morning," he purred, holding her close to him once more. "I am sure you will be excited to know that I have an interesting day planned for us today."

"Have you?"

"Yes," he smiled. "Come. I think it will take your mind off your veil."

He was as good as his word. Once they had both dressed and had breakfast, they took a ride to Lannisport on two beautiful horses. The first was Jaime's stallion Honour, while the second was a gift for his betrothed. Jaime presented her the beautiful black and tan - who he informed her was named Glory - when they arrived at Casterly Rock's stables, and then the two of them journeyed to the port together. They spent the day walking through town, looking at gloves in the haberdashers, buying drinks at one of the beachside restaurants, speaking to acquaintances Jaime met on route in order to introduce Brienne as his betrothed. The public introductions were a necessity, Brienne knew, given the Lannister's powerful name, but it was unnerving all the same.

Yet Jaime's closeness made her feel confident and also allowed her to forget her worry about the veil, at least until they returned to Casterly Rock. Jaime had promised the servants would keep looking and she trusted him and believed...

"We found the veil," said Mrs Merryweather, almost the moment Brienne and Jaime crossed the threshold.

The smile that had been conjured by her wonderful day with Jaime dropped at once when Brienne saw the tattered piece of tulle in Mrs Merryweather's hands. Stepping forward slowly, her eyes brimming with tears, Brienne took it from the housekeeper as gently as if it were gossamer, even though she could see that it appeared as if it had been mauled by a wild animal.

"What happened?" asked Brienne, gazing down at her hard work in mounting horror.

Mrs Merryweather answered at once. "We found it tangled in the branches of one of the old oak trees on the grounds. It must have blown out of your window last night while you were sleeping and got caught."

"How could that have happened?" said Brienne disbelievingly, "it was not a windy night, and I am not sure I left my window open."

Mrs Merryweather shrugged dismissively. "How else would you explain it then?"

Not having an answer, Brienne turned to Jaime, who instantly flung an arm around her shoulder. "We will work this out. Mrs Merryweather, take Brienne's veil and make sure it is fixed."

Looking supremely sceptical, the housekeeper furrowed her brow. "I don't think that is possible, sir."

"Well make it possible!" hissed Jaime, before turning back to Brienne. "Nothing is going to ruin this for me, nothing at all. Do you hear me? I will marry Brienne, if it is the last thing I do!"

While Brienne was pleased by the level of passion Jaime was able to summon for the idea of being her husband, there was also something a little outsized about it, especially since a damaged veil was unlikely to ruin their whole wedding day, or prevent her from being his wife. Consequently, she took his hand to soothe him. "Everything will be alright, my love," she said gently, "even if Mrs Merryweather cannot fix the veil. We have a whole week; I am sure I can make another."

At that statement, Mrs Merryweather raised one eyebrow. "But will it ever be the same, Miss Tarth, as that first pretty thing you poured all your love into?"

Mystified by the housekeeper's statement, Brienne went to ask her to clarify what she meant but, without another word, Mrs Merryweather curtseyed to them both, and took the ruined veil away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading. Please consider comments and kudos - every single one makes me very happy!


	4. So Like a Wild, Frantic Bird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne's wedding day arrives, but secrets are soon revealed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back and reading this chapter! I am sorry this one has taken a while, but it was a tough one to put together, so I hope you enjoy it. The next chapter shouldn't be so long!

The morning of Jaime and Brienne's wedding dawned clear and bright. As Brienne awoke, her eyes fluttered open as she was summoned slowly into the sunlight by the sound of birds singing outside her window.

 _Today is the day,_ she thought happily, _when I can finally put away Miss Brienne Tarth and emerge, winged, as Mrs Brienne Lannister._

Once her eyes had focussed, her gaze settled on her trousseau over in the corner. The dress was as beautiful as ever, the skirt flowing like water from the mannequin. It was crowned by the new veil that she and Myrcella had finished the night before, once more embroidered with suns and stars. As there had been a rush to finish it after the first went missing, it did not have the fine delicacy of the other they had made, but Brienne was almost too excited to care.

_Later today, I will have a home with Jaime. Permanently._

Her betrothed sent in some women to help her get ready - Senelle, Mrs Graceford, and Myrcella - although Mrs Merryweather was conspicuously absent. Brienne assumed that Jaime knew there was no love lost between herself and the housekeeper, so had made sure they were not near one another on the wedding day. Yet Brienne hardly noticed her absence, as the other women were all so excited for her as they helped her into her dress and veil that she felt herself become washed away by the emotion.

"Oh, Miss Tarth," cooed Mrs Graceford, "the veil is so beautiful, and it is very clever how you have made references to your family's heraldry."

Senelle was more excited by the water pearls. "They look like little stars, Miss Tarth. So perfect."

"Oh, I am just so happy you are going to be my Mama," said Myrcella triumphantly.

Once Brienne was dressed, Mrs Graceford handed her the bouquet of flowers comprising of ambrosia, forsythia, and jonquils. Miss Tarth could not help but smile; she was so ready to leap into her new life. All it took now was holy words spoken in a sept and she would be Jaime's, and he would be hers.

The women Jaime had sent accompanied Brienne down to the carriage. Casterly Rock was so enormous that it would take Brienne a lifetime to travel to the sept on foot, so Jaime had decided to arrange a quicker form of transport. Mrs Graceford and Senelle helped her into the carriage alongside Myrcella, who was acting as if this was the happiest day of her life as she shuffled up next to Brienne on the seat.

"Will you throw the bouquet after you wed?" she asked excitedly as the horses began to pull the carriage along the road. "I am going to try to catch it."

Brienne could not help but smile at her future daughter. "I did not realise you were so keen on getting married."

"Oh yes," beamed Myrcella. "I can see how happy you and Papa are, and I want that for myself someday."

 _Happy._ Brienne supposed she and Jaime were happy, although she would never had thought it possible months ago. Poor and ugly, Brienne had been preparing for a life without love; one of intense duty raising other people's children while steeling herself against any would be conquerors. And yet Jaime had surmounted every wall she put in his way and invaded her heart so thoroughly that it was now entirely his. Of course, she did not yet know everything about her soon to be husband, but she was sure that would come in time; now they had planted the seeds, they just had to wait for the beautiful flowers to grow.

When the carriage pulled up at the sept, Brienne was surprised to find that Jaime was waiting on the steps for her, wearing the most gorgeous Stormlander suit and top hat. Mrs Merryweather was by his side, whey-faced and nervous looking, in her Sunday best. Although Myrcella was still chirping along happily beside her, Brienne could not help but feel a knot of anxiety twist in her belly. With careful steps, Brienne made to dismount from the carriage - Myrcella holding her train behind her - but all her grace was almost immediately lost as Jaime stepped forward and grabbed her hand.

"Come," he said harshly, "we must go be wed."

Before Brienne even had the time to turn and smile at Myrcella, Jaime had pulled her towards the sept, pushing past Mrs Merryweather as he did so. There was no great swell of the organ as Brienne marched up the aisle, hand in hand with Jaime, because she was walking too fast to keep up with her beloved. As Myrcella had been taken by surprise, she had not had time to carry Brienne's train, leaving the poor girl cantering behind her like a newborn foal. When they reached the altar, Brienne took a moment to look at those gathered. Apart from herself, Jaime, Mrs Merryweather, and Myrcella, Tommen was also present in a smart silk suit just like his father's. Jaime's valet, Addam Marbrand, was standing nearby with the Lannister cloak, while the Septon had a copy of the Seven Pointed Star in his hand, ready to start the readings. All things considered, the number of people in the sept was surprisingly small, Brienne thought. She knew Jaime had wanted something small but, surely, a man as renowned as he would attract a bigger gathering than this? Consequently, as the septon started to drone through some archaic scripture, Brienne leant forward in order to whisper to Jaime.

"I thought there would be more people than this. Where is your father? Or your brother?"

Not wanting to take his eyes off the septon, Jaime did not quite meet her gaze. "My father's ship was caught in a storm - he's fine, but late - and bad weather delayed Tyrion on the Kingsroad."

"But..."

"Shhhhh, we're getting married."

Furrowing her brow, Brienne let Jaime smile at her tightly before she turned back to the Septon. In his flat monotone, the Septon was explaining all the ways in which the gods blessed marriage; the Father and Mother provided a couple with children, the Warrior offered protection, the Smith strong foundations, the Maiden fidelity, the Crone a longevity in terms of friendship and companionship, while the Stranger bonded husband and wife until death. And yet in spite of these felicitous offerings, Brienne found it difficult to concentrate on what he was saying, as she could sense something behind Jaime's strained smile that he was hiding from her. She tried to push that feeling down in order to think of the future; the life they would build together, their nest, their home. With Jaime, she could have the family that she had never truly had. They would have children; giants with gold hair and blue eyes who could stride the world without the fear that Brienne lived every day.

It would be everything she had ever wanted.

Quite suddenly, Brienne was pulled out from her own nervous musings by the Septon, who had finally finished his soliloquy on the Seven Pointed Star and arrived at the main ceremony itself. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection," he said, gesturing towards Jaime with a grandiose flourish. At the signal, Jaime let go of Brienne's hands and turned to his valet, Marbrand, who stepped forwards with the magnificent Lannister cloak that her husband was to put about her shoulders. The lions were embroidered so wonderfully that they almost roared.

Yet before Jaime could reach for the cloak and take it from Marbrand, there was a sound that did not feel natural in the quiet setting of the sept. It was a laugh, as light as rain, that was almost ghostly. It sent a shiver up Brienne's spine.

"How come you did not invite me to your wedding, Jaime?" came a voice, as soft as silk.

As she had been slowly sinking into Jaime's green eyes during the Septon's sermonising, Brienne had to forcefully pull herself out of her romantic reverie in order to turn her head and follow the sound of the voice. It did not take long to spot the intruder, as there was a woman she did not recognise standing at the end of the aisle. Once, Brienne was sure she must have been beautiful, what with her gold blonde hair and her green eyes, but now it was just a ghostly glamour, long lost to emaciation and the strange distance in her gaze. Yet the remnants of her physical beauty were not the most striking thing about her; the woman's feet were bare and bloodied, her dress was tattered and worn, and from her head hung the ruined remains of Brienne's lost veil, still decorated with suns and stars.

Becoming increasingly wary of who this intruder was, Brienne confusedly turned to her betrothed. It chilled her heart to see the horror in his expression. "Jaime?" she said, lifting a hand to his face to get him to look at her. Fear poisoned the gaze they shared. "Jaime, who is this woman?"

"Who am I, Jaime?" the woman asked, slowing walking down the aisle, her smile growing with every step. "Tell her who I am!"

Brienne turned back to Jaime, who suddenly seemed to have gone mute. As a suspicious fear was welling in Brienne's chest, she knew she needed answers, and he was the only person who could give them to her. "Jaime, tell me who she is. She's wearing my veil."

"My veil now," the woman said, before letting out a raucous laugh as if she had just made the funniest joke ever uttered. "And it should have _always_ been my veil... because I am his and he is mine, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. We are destined."

Jaime dropped Brienne's hands and turned to face the intruder. "Mrs Merryweather, take Cersei back to her room, she is clearly not thinking straight."

 _Cersei._ Brienne knew that name but, standing in this odd setting, she could not place it, could not fix it to anything concrete she knew of Jaime's life. She was clearly important, however, as Brienne could see the terror in Jaime's eyes, even though he was trying to hide it.

"Come on Miss Lannister," said Mrs Merryweather carefully, reaching out to Cersei with slightly fearful hands. Hissing like a cat, Cersei batted the housekeeper off, then charged forward until she was standing right in front of Brienne, her expression changing from maniacal laughter to as if she smelt something awful right under her nose. Brienne gulped as Cersei's eyes rolled over her. They were a bully's eyes, and Brienne felt as if she was being judged, just as she had been at boarding school.

"You are ugly," the woman spat, her lip curling into a snarl. "Jaime, did you pick this great shambling creature just to annoy me?"

Lost and confused, Brienne went to say something, but then Jaime jumped in front of her, turning himself into a human shield. It seemed a strangely outsized gesture for the catty comment the woman had just thrown Brienne's way.

" _Leave_ ," Jaime said, his tone more aggressive than Brienne had ever heard. "Nobody wants you here. _I_ don't want you here!"

In spite of Jaime's angry tone, over his shoulder, Brienne could see that the woman's smile was growing very large. "That is a lie. You always wanted me here, in this sept. We fucked once on that altar. Don't you remember?"

A horrified gasp spread out from the assembled crowd, but it was not enough to stop Cersei, who seemed to believe she now had a chunk of Jaime's flesh between her teeth.

"You told me we could get married, and damn father and anyone else! The Targaryens have practiced brother-sister marriage for thousands of years, so why not us?"

At that comment, the pieces finally started to fit into place for Brienne. Mrs Merryweather had mentioned Jaime's sister - as the most beautiful woman he had ever known - but Brienne had assumed she must be dead. No one ever spoke of her, just like no one ever spoke of the children's mother. Their passing must have been wrapped in pain, Brienne had assumed, so it was never mentioned in order to keep the peace.

But now Cersei was here. Bright-eyed, staring at Jaime, and very much alive.

"Cersei, stop your mad ramblings at once, we are not children anymore," spat Jaime. Although Brienne could not see his face, she guessed he was red-faced and angry. "We must live in the real world."

"It is not I who lives in dreams, Jaime, it is you," Cersei countered, lifting her hand to cup his cheek. There was something strangely unsisterly in that gesture that made Brienne feel quite queasy. Evidently, Jaime felt the same, as he batted his sister's hand away. It did not have the desired effect, however. Cersei only laughed and picked up the thread of the untold story that was slowly unravelling before Brienne's eyes, determined to hang Jaime with it. "I remember the games we used to play as children, imitating the dogs and horses in their rutting. I know you remember too. Remember what we used to say? We are two halves of a whole, Jaime. You and me. We don't need anybody else... especially not when you're inside me."

"There are so many more people in the world than you and me," barked Jaime. "Our father, Tyrion, Brienne, our children..."

 _Our children. Our children. Our children._ Those two simple words went around and around Brienne's mind, knocking over everything that got in their way. Seemingly, Myrcella had had a similar reaction as her mouth dropped open in shock, before she stepped forward in order to put a name to this new world that they had all just entered.

"Mama?" she asked confusedly, staring at Cersei with her big green eyes that looked so much like Jaime's.

_Or did they look like Cersei's?_

In spite of Myrcella's interjection, Cersei did not turn and look at either of her children, as her eyes were only for Jaime. "Put an end to this, brother," she ordered him, her voice almost sing-song, as if she were chanting an incantation, "and let us be what we always were to one another. Brother and sister. Lovers."

Up until that very moment, Brienne's heart had been so full of happiness and hope, her mind bursting with the promise of a future she could live with Jaime, that the truth of who he truly was settled on her chest like hot tar; burning and impossible to move. She staggered away slightly from Jaime, wanting to get out from under his shadow.

Sensing her movement, Jaime turned towards her. "Brienne, I..."

Perhaps it was the concern in Jaime's gaze, but there was obviously something in his expression towards Brienne that Cersei could not stand, as she leapt forward at once, her dirty nails drawn up like daggers. "You are mine, Jaime! MINE!"

Lunging at him, Cersei went for his face, and dug her nails into his flesh until he let out a scream of fury and pain. It was at that moment that Tommen began to cry, and a flock of birds ricocheted outside the window. As Cersei started to yell, scratch, and scream at Jaime, the Septon, Marbrand, and Mrs Merryweather rushed forward in an attempt to pull her off her brother.

"YOU LOVE ME, I KNOW YOU DO! NOT THIS SHAMBLING BEAST! I KNOW, JAIME! I KNOW!"

In her dreams, Brienne had imagined flowers and kisses on her wedding day, and the immense comfort of Jaime holding her hand. Even in her worst nightmares, she could not have believed this to be true. Cersei - Jaime's lover and sister - come to haunt them all with a mad look in her eye, wearing a stolen veil. Not able to stay and watch the happiest day of her life go up in flames, Brienne turned on her heel and ran, even as the screams and shouts built up behind her.

"YOU ARE MINE, JAIME! NOT THAT WHORE'S! WE BELONG TOGETHER! WE BELONG--"

After what felt like both a millennium and a second, Brienne dashed into the vestry at the side of the sept that was for the personal use of the Septon. Only there could she find peace defended by a lock with a key. Once she had slammed the door behind her, Brienne's legs gave way until she slipped down the hard wood into a crumpled heap, crying and crying until she was overwhelmed by pain.

 _It is all a lie,_ she thought desperately, as she choked on her tears. _Every word of it; him, our love, our story. None of it has been true at all._

Over the raging storm of her own despair, Brienne could just about hear what was going on in the sept. Cersei was still screaming terrible things - how Jaime belonged to her, how he could never have another woman, even the whore he was planning to marry - while Tommen was crying. Jaime himself was shouting orders that Cersei should be returned to the attic, and this time Marbrand was to keep an eye on the her, so she could not escape. 

"I will not have her upsetting my wife, my Brienne, do you hear me?"

As Brienne continued to weep, the noises became quieter and quieter. Clearly, the wedding party was retreating from the sept, all determined to lock their lord and master's darkest secret away where no one could find her.

_It is all a lie... everything... all a lie..._

Brienne did not know how much time had passed, but eventually there was a knock on the door.

It was Jaime.

"Brienne? Can you let me in? We need to talk."

Scrambling to her feet, Brienne stood up to her fully height and rapidly wiped the tears from her cheeks. In spite of all the softness they had shared leading up to their wedding day, she would not let him see her cry. She would not let him see the pathetic state of her love for him.

"Brienne, please. I want to explain, I need you to understand..."

There was no use hiding from it, she would have to face him eventually. Consequently, once she was certain she appeared stoic and that her emotions were deeply buried, Brienne put her trembling fingers on the key and unlocked the door.

The Jaime standing on the other side was a man she had never met before. Gone was the coiled tension that had always previously characterised him, which Brienne could now put down to fear that someone would discover his secret. Instead, Jaime now wore a kind of bruised vulnerability along with his expensive suit, that made Brienne open the door slightly wider to allow him to pass her by. When he did so, Brienne could not help but notice the bloodied scratches upon his cheek that had been inflicted by his sister. The part of Brienne that was still a stupid, naïve girl longed to kiss Jaime's pain away; the more dominant part of her wanted to scratch his eyes out herself.

Once the door was closed again, Brienne turned to face him, and was surprised to find he held the ruined veil in his hands. Perhaps he thought it would make a good peace offering, freshly plucked off Cersei's head, but Brienne could not help but believe it was far, far too late for such gifts.

"Speak," she said sharply, not offering him anymore than that strident order.

Jaime took a breath. Brienne waited silently, hanging on for any small sliver of truth that would make this nightmare go away.

"Cersei and I... were always drawn together as children," Jaime began slowly, his expression one of immense sadness. "Our mother died, our father went away to the colonies, and Tyrion was only a babe raised by nursemaids. It was just me and her, and we were lonely. Our governess used to beat us and show us no warmth at all - not that father cared - so I used to sneak into Cersei's room at night just to have someone to hold. She would brush my hair out of my eyes and tell me everything was going to be alright and kiss me to comfort me."

A lump of sadness began to bloom in Brienne's throat as she thought of Jaime as a lonely little boy, as it reminded her so much of her own childhood. Yet, even in spite of all his hardships, Brienne could not help but feel that the logical conclusion of his loneliness was not to begin a romantic relationship with his sister. He should have done what she did, and tried to find love within himself.

"As a girl, I was close to my brother Galladon before he died, but that would never have grown into anything... untoward. How did it in your case?" Brienne asked, trying to pose the question academically so she was not overwhelmed by tears.

"Just as Cersei said; at first it was a game of imitation," confessed Jaime, his guilt weighing down on his shoulders as heavy as rocks. "We saw the cook's dogs fornicating in the yard and decided to try it ourselves. A maid, Melara, saw us once and threatened to tell our father, but she fell down a well a few days later so could never reveal our secret."

Remembering the mad gleam in Cersei's eyes, Brienne wondered whether she should press the point on Melara's death. However, Jaime's expression was one of such immense sadness that she knew she needed to keep the topic of conversation on him and his relationship with his sister, lest he be lost in the past. "And you carried on after that?"

"We carried on," Jaime nodded, his shoulders drooping further. "We were good at keeping it a secret. I think perhaps Tyrion had his suspicions, but he never knew fully. Of course we had our times apart; when I went to the Citadel, when she went to King's Landing for the season with Aunt Genna, but we always returned here to our house, to our birth right."

Casterly Rock had never felt so large or oppressive.

"And you had three children?" asked Brienne tentatively, putting the pieces together.

Jaime hung his head in shame. "When Tyrion went off to the Citadel, we had no one to disturb us. Casterly Rock was like our own private kingdom. My father barely noticed - he was too busy politicking in King's Landing - and it wasn't as if the servants would contradict us. So we lived as man and wife, brother and sister, two halves of a whole... and we had three children in as many years."

At that confession, Brienne paced across the room, unable to look at him. Although she had never met Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen were two of the sweetest children ever to have lived. How was it possible they were the product of something as dark and twisted as incest between a twin brother and sister?

"Did you carry on?" she asked, her voice strained by the tears that were threatening. "Did you continue to be with her while you were with me?"

"Of course not," said Jaime fiercely, marching across the room to hold her against him. Brienne wanted nothing more than to push him away, but his body was so warm, comforting, and desirable that she found it difficult. "After Tommen was born, my father came back to Casterly Rock and discovered what had happened. I passed the children off as mine with one of the maids, but Cersei could not keep her mouth shut, and father quickly discovered the truth."

"What did he do?" asked Brienne, trying to imagine how her own father would have reacted to news as shocking as that.

"He decided that we needed to be separated," Jaime declared, before taking a breath to steel himself. "He found me a bride from the Riverlands, Lysa Tully was her name, and a husband for Cersei from the Stormlands. My father thought he could hide our sin in Cersei's new name - Baratheon - and disguise the children as my bastards."

Brienne mulled on that situation for a moment; when she had answered Tywin Lannister's advert and arrived at Casterly Rock to teach Myrcella and Tommen, she had been aware they were Mr Lannister's _children,_ but everyone had be so vague about their actual original that Brienne had found herself making up her own story about some dear, dead wife that Jaime refused to talk about. Yet she could never have imagined this in her wildest daydreams.

"Did you marry Lysa?" she asked, trying to see the end of the road.

Jaime shook his head. "No, because Cersei would not give me up. While I could see we had been acting rashly, stupidly, selfishly even, Cersei continued to sing the refrain that we were one and the same, two halves of a whole. And then she tried to make it so."

Narrowing her eyes suspiciously, Brienne tried to put together what he was saying. "Did she...?" she began, searching for a question she did not know she needed to ask. Jaime eventually provided her with the words.

"She tried to burn Casterly Rock down with wildfire, while my father, the children, the servants and I were all in the house."

To Brienne, it felt as if her heart had turned to stone. "Wildfire?" she asked, horrified. Only monsters and madmen ever had anything to do with wildfire.

"She refused to let me be under anyone else's spell, refused to let me be my own man," Jaime said, wrapping his hand around Brienne's wrist to hold her close to him. The veil felt like a rope against her skin. "I only realised when I saw the drapes of my bed were aflame. My father called a pyromancer, who managed to quell the flames, but by the time they were doused we were all more worried about Cersei, who we found laughing maniacally in the dining room with a box of matches in her hand."

As she imagined that moment, Brienne could almost smell the smoke as well as Jaime's fear. Part of her wanted to reach out and touch him, to comfort him, but then she remembered they were standing on top of an edifice of lies, and he had just pushed her off.

"What did you do?" she asked, barely able to get the words out.

"Father promoted Taena to housekeeper and tasked her with keeping Cersei in the attic, away from the children and the rest of us. It was for her own safety as well as ours; Cersei was... _is_... mad, you saw so yourself." Although Jaime seemed quite earnest, Brienne wondered whether he truly believed in his sister's madness, but it was impossible to tell by looking at him. "My father told the Baratheons that Cersei had died, all to protect my reputation, because he wanted me to marry Lysa and give him grandchildren."

"Why didn't you marry her?" Brienne asked, confusedly.

Jaime let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Lysa put paid to our engagement herself. It turned out she had been diddling one of her father's wards, a pimple-faced nobody called Petyr Baelish."

Jaime's casual dismissal of someone beneath his social status riled Brienne somewhat, so she pulled her arm out of his grasp and looked at him firmly. "Like you were _diddling_ your sister, you mean?"

"Brienne..."

"No, Jaime," she said sternly, backing away from him. "You can't wave this away, can't pretend this is inconsequential; you slept with your sister, and then were complicit in locking her away to cover for both of your sins." In imagining Cersei trapped alone in the darkness of the attic, the truth hit Brienne at once. "It was _her_ that stole my veil, wasn't it? And you knew."

Jaime's guilt was written all over his face. "Taena is an alcoholic; Cersei sometimes overpowers her..."

A cry of upset and rage escaped Brienne's mouth as she turned away from Jaime, horrified that he could be so blasé about the lives of the women he used as pawns. "How could you lie about something like this? How can you expect me to understand _this?"_

Normally in possession of an incomparable braggadocio, Jaime's imploring tone sounded strange coming from his mouth. "Our love is more important," he said, trying to turn her round and cup her cheek with his hand. "Our love is more important than all the things you and I have been in the past."

His fingers brushed her cheek, so Brienne slapped his hand away. "Don't you touch me!"

Any other man would have retreated at that order, like a wounded animal licking his wounds, but there were no men like Jaime Lannister. Instead of being contrite or apologetic, Jaime stood up to his full height and attempted to pull her close once more; desperate to tell her with hands and touches what he could not with his words.

"Is that the way it must be, Brienne?" Jaime asked, grasping hold of her wrists and staring at her with an expression verging on madness. "Must I, for some great mistake of my youth, be doomed to be detested and reviled, shackled to a demon that I helped create but now regret? Should I never know what it is like to have friendship and companionship, warmth and trust, or to be held by the woman I love? Must I never know what it is to share my life with someone alike in spirit and temperament, always denied easy conversation and the space to be romantic and passionate? To love someone, body and soul? To love _you?_ Just because of Cersei? And that great black sin that people think has stained me?"

Although Jaime still looked immensely handsome and refined in his black silk suit, Brienne suddenly sensed the animal in him. Behind the sophisticated glamour, the perfectly tailored outfits, and the cultured witty manner, was a man who wanted to curl up by the fire next to a warm naked body with a beating heart. He desired to fuck and fight and _live_ yet was constrained by the fact his father was a lord, that he was one of the most eligible young men in the Seven Kingdoms, and he had been complicit in imprisoning his darkest secret in the attic. Out of sight, out of mind.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Brienne asked, finding it difficult to speak. "Why did you propose and bring me here to marry you while hiding the truth from me?"

At her question, Jaime let go of her wrists and tried to take her hands, even though he was still holding the veil. Unable to deal with such tenderness from him, Brienne flinched away. She immediately saw the hurt in his eyes.

"How could I?" he rasped, clearly struggling to find the words. "The children thought their mother was dead, and Cersei is my _sister..._ I didn't want you to know I was that man, the man who got three children on his twin, who defied every law of gods and man in his youth. In the years that have passed, I thought I could try to put that part of me away and become something new; a father, an heir to a large estate but... I missed human contact, a _woman's_ touch. And when you came here, I wanted you so badly that I thought I might die, so I tried to be better by making my world resemble something normal, so that you could be my wife and I your husband. _Something right._ " Lost in the memory of what might have been, Jaime took a deep gulp of air. "I've been trying to be better... I _want_ to be better, and I can be with your help."

His green eyes were so full of hope and promise that he felt confident enough to reach up and take Brienne's hand. His palm was warm against hers, a ghostly reminder of the love they had once shared.

_Once._

Brienne looked down. In reaching for her touch, Jaime had dropped the veil that Cersei had seen fit to steal and then destroy. It now sat at Brienne's feet, still embroidered with Tarth's suns and stars. Letting go of Jaime's hand, Brienne reached down to pick it up. It felt so delicate - gossamer-like - in her big, unfeminine hands. Feeling its weight, she handed the veil back to Jaime, hoping he would understand.

"That's all that is left of us, a ruined veil," she whispered, her voice soft. "I am nothing special, Mr Lannister, but I refuse to live a lie."

At the utterance of his title - Mr Lannister - Jaime looked as if Brienne had slapped him. "Brienne, I..."

"And it is not fair to hold me as your angel, your celestial judge, as the person who will help you be better," she said, her resolve growing stronger with every word. "My whole life I have been mocked and derided, made to feel as if love were as distant as the stars. For a moment, you brought it closer, but I now see that was a mirage too."

As tears came to her eyes, Mr Lannister reached up and cupped her cheek with his hand. "It is no mirage, sweetling. I love you as dearly as if you were my own heart. I keep you under my left ribs; the cavity in my chest where man is doomed to feel belongs entirely to you."

Although his words were sweet, Brienne was not warmed by them. Instead, she pushed his hand away; she did not want him touching her. "Words are wind, Mr Lannister. I do not want your feelings, because I know they can burn out quickly. Your heart must have belonged to Cersei once, no? I wanted your friendship, respect, and your honesty. I wanted the truth."

Then it was his turn to cry. "I will tell you everything you need to know about me, everything you want to know. Just please... come back into the sept with me. Be my wife."

Brienne's eyes drifted away from his beautiful, desperate face towards the door leading back into the sept. It would be all too easy to take Jaime's hand and walk back in there, giving into her baser feelings and allow herself to become his wife. Yet how could she do that? Jaime had _lied_ to her. Yes, he had attempted to start a new life by locking Cersei away and raising their children as his own, but he had not trusted Brienne with the secret of who he was. Was that enough to build a long lasting marriage? Embroiled with doubts, she turned and looked at the open door that led outside. It would be hard to turn away from Mr Lannister and become Miss Tarth once more, so hard that it might break her, but deep down Brienne knew it was necessary, otherwise she would not have any respect for herself and her limits at all.

Leaning forward, Brienne planted a careful kiss to Jaime's lips. At once, both his hands jumped to her hair as the ruined veil floated to the floor once more. She could taste the hope on his tongue, even as her own dissipated. There was no tomorrow for them, but at least they could have one last kiss.

When she pulled away, there were stars in his eyes. "Marry me, wench. I promise I will be better, I will--"

"I am sorry," she stammered, lifting the corner of her skirt in order to give herself room to flee. "I am so sorry."

Not able to look as his expression faltered from joy into despair, Brienne turned away from Jaime and headed to the door, beyond which laid the open skies. There was no turning back now; she must choose to be Miss Tarth, independent and with her own free will.

The freedom to make a choice. And the choice was not him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading; I hope you enjoyed it. I tried to mix both Jane Eyre and ASOIAF canon here, so I hope it worked. If you think it did, I would love to hear your thoughts in the form of comments and kudos :)


	5. The Solitary and the Friendless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne flees Casterly Rock...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming back! This chapter is a little dreamlike and experimental, so I hope you enjoy!

Beyond the open sept doors, the rest of the world waited with bated breath.

Just for her. Only for her.

To Brienne's immense relief, Jaime did not chase her when she stepped across the threshold and moved into her new life. In fact, once she had journeyed beyond him - flushed face and despairing - in the sept, the only person Brienne saw from Jaime's world was Mrs Graceford, who was walking through the entrance hall when Brienne arrived back at Casterly Rock's keep.

"Ah, Mrs Lannister," said the cook, surprise in her eyes. "You are back early."

"I am not Mrs Lannister," Brienne managed to croak, her tears threatening to overwhelm her. "I am just here for my bags... I need to get away, I need..."

Mrs Graceford looked at her confusedly. "Your bags? But you are getting married..."

"No I'm not," she said, her mournful tone sweet and pure. "No I'm not."

Not wanting Mrs Graceford to see her cry, Brienne swiftly retreated to her room and set about packing. She took off her wedding gown and beautiful jewellery - Jaime's money had paid for it, after all - and laid it out on the bed, leaving it a silvery ghost of the life she might have lived. It did not take long to remove herself from Jaime's house, as Brienne had barely any belongings herself. Apart from a few plain dresses, she just had an old trinket from her father, a sewing kit, a small purse of money, a knife, and a battered copy of the Seven Pointed Star that she had never read. Nevertheless, they were the only things she could truly count as hers so, after changing into the most nondescript of her dresses, Brienne packed her few belongings away and left Casterly Rock, barely looking back.

With little money and no home to go to, Brienne walked to the nearby town, determined to take the next stagecoach to nowhere. She did not have to wait long. Soon, a sleek black gig offering a ride to King's Landing appeared, and Brienne took it without a second thought.

Whether Jaime missed her, she did not know, for her eyes were on the world behind the bars. Now it was time for the caged bird to sing.

Her travelling companions were quite strange. The first was a handsome man with a silken smile who introduced himself only as Mr H'ghar. Brienne assumed it was an Essosi name. The other two travellers were less forthcoming with information; the first was a man without a nose who seemed incapable of making pleasantries, while the second a man with teeth filed into points. Hiding beneath their wide brimmed hats, the two men just whispered to each other, occasionally shooting snarling smiles at her. They paid Mr H'ghar little mind at all.

In spite of feeling greatly unnerved by their presence, Brienne distracted herself with polite conversation with Mr H'ghar, and refused to look at her other two companions. Perhaps that was her first mistake. Even though she managed to cultivate something approaching a report with Mr H'ghar by the end of the day's travelling, when the four occupants of the stagecoach were forced out of their seats, Brienne had not managed to make allies of either of the two unnamed men.

"I gotta change the horses," grunted the driver, "and there are no new rides until the morrow. You will have to stay here for the night."

While Brienne's stomach fell - she was already short of money, and doubted she could afford the journey if she had to pay for an extra inn - Mr H'ghar took the initiative and pressed questions onto the driver. "But I must be in King's Landing soon instead of... here. Where is here, by the way?"

"Twycroft Village," replied the driver emotionlessly, not in the least bit intimidated by his four angry customers.

"Where the fuck is Twycroft Village?" asked the noseless man angrily.

"Here," the driver replied dryly. "Clegane's Keep is leagues to the south west. If you head north over the hills you arrive at Sarsfield. West leads back to Casterly Rock, back the way we came. Once we have changed horses, I can take you east onto Deep Den, but not until the morning. I need rest."

"Will gold change your mind?" asked Mr H'ghar, peering out from under his top hat as if he already knew the answer.

The driver let out a humourless chuckle. "All the gold in the world won't change the fact that these horses are dead on their legs and won't have enough gumption in them to get us to Deep Den. If you want to move west quickly, you'll have to wait until the morning."

Without another word, the driver gave his three customers a curt nod each and disappeared off to tend to the horses. Nervous in the company of three men she did not really know, Brienne stayed in the shadows and let Mr H'ghar do the talking. He was one ally at least.

"Mr Rorge, what do you plan to do?"

The man with no nose turned to his friend. "Come, Biter. Let's go to the inn. We can journey on tomorrow."

As the two men walked away towards the nearby inn, Brienne turned to Mr H'ghar. "We must be quick if we want to find rooms, sir," she said, trying to keep the tone light. "I doubt Twycroft Inn caters for many travellers."

"I will not be staying at the inn," Mr H'ghar said swiftly, tipping his hat at Brienne. "I have an appointment to meet a woman with emerald green eyes and a love of wildfire back in Casterly in three days’ time, so my errand to Deep Den will have to wait. I intend to walk back to that small inn we passed a mile or so back. I feel they will have more comfortable lodgings. Would you care to join me?"

Brienne thought on his offer, even though to the wrong person it would sound unseemly. Unmarried men and women could not dally on moonlit roads together, after all. Furthermore, if anything was for certain, she did not want to stay in Twycroft longer than she had to. It was just a small village with a handful of dirty faced peasants and even fewer yeoman farmers. Brienne's only chance at having a future of any kind was being employed as a governess, and it was highly unlikely anyone in Twycroft would have the money to support her. She had to keep journeying on and heading back the way she came would be acknowledging defeat.

"That is very kind of you, Mr H'ghar," said Brienne, giving him a sad smile. "But returning along the Goldroad will be more a step back than I can endure. I must go on, so I will wait for the coach in the morning."

He nodded understandingly. "Of course, my lady, but I struggle to leave you all on your own. In the absence of my company, please take this gold dragon. It is the least I can do."

Her acceptance of his offer had been her second mistake, as she had not been aware that Mr Rorge and his pet Biter were listening to what Mr H'ghar had said. Therefore, Brienne had felt safe as she bid goodbye to Mr H'ghar and made her way to an inn. Using his gold dragon, she bought a slice of stale bread and the cheapest room the inn had, leaving her with copious change for the rest of her journey.

_I must save it. Who knows what awaits me tomorrow?_

As it turned out, Brienne did not have to wait that long to find out. The innkeeper showed her to a room in the basement, which only had one small window that led up to the moonlit outside world. In spite of being thoroughly exhausted, every last one of her thoughts were saved for Jaime, so she found she could not sleep. She wondered where he was. Had he gone to Lannisport to drink away his despair? Or did he not care, and had just returned to a normal life wearing a stormy expression? Or had he returned to his sister's bed in the attic, to hold her close and give her more children, because Brienne had refused to become his whore?

Dancing in and out of sleep - within Jaime's love and without - Brienne was barely conscious of the intruders that entered her room. In fact, she only became aware of their presence when Biter's meaty fingers encircled her pale white throat, his breath stinking of alcohol.

"Where's the money that Mr H'ghar gave you, bitch?" he growled.

Brienne was so unused to physical touch from anyone other than Jaime that, for a transient moment, Biter's choke did not feel threatening. Sometimes, when they had snuck away into the garden to kiss, Jaime would squeeze Brienne's throat as he sucked her tongue. Although his kiss had been worshipful and adoring, his fixed hand made sure he could hold her still, as if he were afraid she would fly away the second she got the chance.

 _I did fly,_ she thought, trapped between Biter's weight. _I fled but now find myself trapped again._

This time, there was no truth telling and the chance for a new life. This was the line between the living and the dead, and all she had was her knife. In a flash of silver, Biter's cries rent the air, the blade sticking out of his belly at an odd angle.

"You bitch! You great ugly bitch!"

Fearing for her life, Brienne did the only thing she could do. Grabbing her cloak which she had slept under, Brienne abandoned the rest of her belongings and used Biter's injury and Mr Rorge's dawning horror to vault across the room towards the window. Before either of them had the time to react, she had scrabbled up and out and was running... running... running, refusing to give either of them a chance to catch her.

Like a bird she soared. Wild and free and untamed.

She ground to a halt sometime later, somewhere along the Goldroad with only the cloak and the dress she had gone to sleep in as her possessions. Suddenly feeling incredibly tired, Brienne searched around for somewhere she could stop, eventually finding a shallow cave along the rocky crags of the Westerland Hills that ran along the side of the road. Wanting to be back with Jaime, Brienne willed herself to sleep in the cold bowels of the mountain, longing to return to the man she thought he was instead of the one he kept hidden.

In the morning, when the first tendrils of light crept into the cave, her sentiment was entirely different.

 _I must move on,_ Brienne told herself, _but to where?_

She was perhaps a few days walk from Clegane's Keep, but that would involve turning back towards Casterly Rock and throwing herself on the mercy of a Lannister bannerman. In spite of her desperation, Brienne would not allow herself to stoop so low. Given that she could not turn back, her only alternative was to continue along the Goldroad towards Deep Den, relying on nothing but her own two feet to take her onwards to King's Landing.

 _I must believe I can get there, or all hope is lost,_ Brienne thought as got to her feet, determined to face her new reality. _I must get there, or I am dead._

As dawn broke, Brienne set out towards Deep Den with aching joints and a painfully empty stomach. Along with the memories of her father, her money, her sewing kit, and her copy of the Seven Pointed Star, Brienne had left the half of the bread she had bought at the inn back in her room. For the first few hours of her journey, she tried to focus on the pleasant warmth of the sun or the travellers who walked alongside her on the road. However, before long, she could not help but see Jaime's face in every single man she passed, hear his laugh in other people's joy, and his melancholy eyes in the other pilgrim's world-weary expressions.

By the evening, Brienne did not even have the strength to tell whether she was hallucinating or not.

The following day, after spending a night wrapped up in her cloak in a hedgerow, Brienne felt so sick and weak she could barely move her feet. Casterly Rock and Jaime seemed a million miles away, although they consumed her every waking thought. If things had gone differently, she would now be Lady Brienne Lannister, wife of the heir to the Westerlands. Yet things had not happened as she planned, because there had been a ghost in the attic, singing of her doom, telling her that she was defenceless in the face of a cat with claws. In a bid to remind herself, Brienne sang that song over and over, reminding herself of what she could never be, as the sun rose in the sky and then began to sink.

"And who are you the proud lord said,

That I must bow so low?

Only a cat of a different coat,

That's all the truth I know.

In a cold of gold or a coat of red

A lion still has claws.

And mine are long and sharp my lord,

As long and sharp as yours.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke,

That lord of Castamere

And now the rains weep o'er his halls

With not a soul to--"

Lost amongst the drowning souls in the mines of Castamere, Brienne's shoe caught on the ragged path and she stumbled, tripping forward as she did not have the strength to hold herself up. Falling through the bracken on the side of the road, she missed her footing once more, and tumbled down the precipitous gradient the ground was angled at without the will to resist. Branches and brambles scratched at her skin as she fell and she only stopped falling when she hit the ground, fortunately softened by the heathers that carpeted the moorland. Groaning, Brienne tried to regain control of her destiny by getting to her feet, but that ask was too much. Too tired and hungry to continue, Brienne fell to her knees once more, cutting her hand on a nearby rock. She barely cared. What was physical pain in comparison to the way Jaime had torn her heart out of her chest, still beating, and sacrificed it to a nameless god? The beautiful but dangerous story he had spun about their love? And how could she ever compare to the sweet poison he had shared with his sister - his literal reflection - who he kept a secret but always close?

What was Brienne Tarth, but a scream swallowed by silence?

As she laid down, sinking into heathers, the sky danced red and gold above her, a great palette of warm colours. In the filigree gold-leaf clouds, she imagined the corn covered fields she had seen on her journey from King's Landing to Casterly Rock, the beautiful sunlit glow of her father's house back on Tarth, and the soft curls of Jaime's hair.

Even here, tilting towards the edge of oblivion, Brienne saw her beloved.

 _If I die here,_ she thought as the coloured light became dimmer and dimmer as she closed her eyes, _maybe it would not be so bad. Maybe I could go home and be with my father, back to Tarth, back to the time where everything was innocent and safe._

_Somewhere before Jaime._

Time passed. The cold sunk into her bones.

She blinked.

A warm calloused hand touched Brienne's cheek. For a moment, she thought it belonged to Jaime. She quickly shook that thought out of her head, however, when she realised there was no intent behind the gentle caress. Jaime's touches were always hungry.

"Pia," said a man's voice, gruff but at the same time calm and reassuring. "Go and get Pod. This lady has collapsed, and I will need his help to get her back to the cottage. Be swift."

At that instruction, there was the sound of scrabbling feet and swishing skirts as the person Brienne assumed was Pia went hurrying away. Wanting to work out who these people were, Brienne slowly opened her eyes, wary of the light being too bright. However, she soon found that she had been cast into a shadow, as there are was man leaning over with a concerned look on his weathered face.

"Hello, my lady," he said gently, his brown eyes bright. "My name is Mr Hunt. It looks as if you are in need of some assistance."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	6. An Inward Treasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being rescued by Mr Hunt, Pod, and Pia, Brienne settles in at Hunt's Keep...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, I am so sorry this has been so long. I went on hiatus for the fic exchange, and then real life hit me HARD. I hope you enjoy this nevertheless. There is one more chapter, which I want to get to you soon.

Brienne had been reconciled to the fact that she would never be happy for many years. Happiness was something that could only be attained by those who, by grace of beauty or birth, had the means to influence others to care about them. Brienne knew that such charms were absent in her, so she had often believed happiness was a mirage she could never seize - those few months with Jaime aside - so did not chase it.

Contentment, on the other hand, was entirely possible.

And it was just that she thought she had reached in her six months at Hunt's Keep. Ever since Mr Hunt, Pod, and Pia had found her lost in the wilderness, she had been living at the former's home, a small estate just outside Silverhill. It was a good size for a man and a wife, although Mr Hyle Hunt - a gentleman who had achieved his rank through trade in the colonies - had lived there alone with his servants until Brienne had arrived. Foremost among them were Podrick Payne, the valet, and Pia Harrenhal, the young housekeeper. On the day Mr Hunt had found Brienne, it had been them that rushed her to Hunt's Keep and looked after her until she got better, bandaging her wounds and feeding her chicken broth. She would be forever thankful.

"Is there someone we should contact?" Pia had asked, one evening when she brought Brienne soup while she lay in bed. "Family? Friends? A husband?"

Her heavy heart briefly conjured an image of Jaime, but Brienne shook her head. "No, there is no one. No one who cares for me."

Yet, in the coming weeks, Brienne had learnt that was not true. Although she had nothing to offer them, Mr Hunt, Pod, and Pia took her into their home and made her welcome, and six months later she still hadn't left. Although Mr Hunt spent most of his days out on business, Pod and Pia were both good company and made her feel more at home than she had in a long time. For six months, she had thought she might learn to be content here... until that fateful day.

"My, my, Miss Tarth, isn't the weather beautiful? I haven't seen such a clear sky in the morning for weeks," Pia had said, opening the curtains of the kitchen.

Brienne looked out the window, agreeing. "It is very fine. You can almost see Silverhill."

"Mr Hunt may want to go for a ride today," Pia observed. "Pod may need to get his hunting boots out."

Brienne could only nod as she sat down at the table. Mr Hunt had been a kind host, but she did not see him often. Young and vigorous, he was searching for the very thing every single man in possession of a good fortune wanted; a wife. When he was not doing business, he was sniffing out potential wives like a pig looking for truffles. While such ruthless mercantilism in love may have been off putting for some, Brienne could not help but admire his honesty.

At least Hyle did not lie, unlike Jaime.

Thinking of her beloved, Brienne turned to the daily newspaper that Pia had laid on the table. As he was the heir to Casterly Rock, Jaime could always be found within the pages of the _King's Landing Chronicle_ , and recently it seemed as if his appearances had increased. For the first few months after she had left Casterly Rock, Jaime had been making appearances at charity balls and raising money for orphans. He founded a scholarship with his inheritance for poor local children and handed out bread to the homeless at a soup kitchen. It seemed he wanted penance, and he was damned sure he was going to make sure the world knew it.

Yet that morning, he was not in the papers kissing babies and shaking hands. Instead, it was something much darker.

CASTERLY ROCK BURNS AFTER MYSTERIOUS FIRE

Brienne's stomach turned to stone as she gazed at the headline, complete with a terrifying looking picture in black and white. Although the image was grainy, Brienne could see that much of the castle looked a charred ruin; the room in which she had taught Tommen and Myrcella their lessons, the parlour in which she and Jaime had shared many evenings, the ballroom in which he had danced with Margaery Tyrell and Brienne had watched jealously, and garden in which he had proposed. All gone. Ruined. As her heart seized up with fear and terror, Brienne looked down at the article, desperate for answers. Although part of her wanted to lock Jaime out forever, another was calling him back into her heart. She only needed to hear the word.

_Last night, the Westerlands was shaken by a dramatic event when Casterly Rock, the ancient home of House Lannister, went up in flames in the early hours of the morning. The fire is believed to have started in one of the house's many attics, as residents in Lannisport started to see smoke emanating from the building sometime after midnight._

_"I was just tending to my fishing boat," said Mr Wylis Hood, a local fisherman. "The seas have been a bit choppy the last few days, and I wanted to check she was properly moored. I left my wife Cate in bed and went outside, and there was this bright green light coming out of Casterly Rock. I could see it all the way down in Lannisport. I thought it was a bad omen, I did."_

_It is not known how the fire started, but there are believed to be casualties. A servant who works at the Rock, who wishes to remain nameless, said, "The only family members who were in the house at the time were Mr Jaime, Master Tommen, and Miss Myrcella. When Mr Jaime realised something was burning, he had the Master and young Miss immediately evacuated before going up to the attic to investigate. I asked him why, and he said he needed to go save her. Mrs Merryweather the housekeeper always sleeps upstairs, so I assume he meant her. Unfortunately, I don't think she made it and Mr Jaime paid a big price."_

At the mention of Jaime and the children, Brienne's stomach turned to lead. Although things between her and Jaime had not actually ended well, it was still him that her heart belonged to, him that she dreamt of when she was cold at night, him who she thought of when she touched the place between her thighs that was most sensitive. Could it possibly be true that he was hurt and injured? Surely, gods could not be injured like mortal men?

She continued to read.

_The fire burned for several more hours until the Lannisport Fire Services were able to extinguish the blaze. Although it has not been confirmed, the King's Landing Chronicle has learnt that two bodies were pulled from the ruined house. Some say they were of two women, while some are claiming the bodies of a man and a woman were recovered. Investigations into the cause of the fire are ongoing._

The newspaper offered Brienne nothing more, so she could only stare at the stark black letters, trying to divine new meaning in them, because they seemed to be suggesting something impossible; that Jaime might be dead.

"Miss Tarth, are you alright?" asked Pia suddenly, reaching across to press the back of her hand against Brienne's forehead. "Do you feel unwell?"

When Pia dropped her hand, Brienne flattened the newspaper against the table, staring at the image of Casterly Rock's silhouette black against the raging fire. Although she was not looking at Pia, Brienne could tell the maid was also intrigued by the picture, as she started asking questions.

"Isn't that Casterly Rock?"

"Yes," replied Brienne, pointing at the headline. "It says that it burnt down last night."

Pia took in a shocked breath. "Really? That's awful. What else does it say?"

Brienne was about to tell Pia to read it herself - she did not want to piece through the possibility that Jaime was dead again - but then she remembered that the girl was probably illiterate, so she had a duty to fill in the blanks for her. "It says that the fire started in the attic and that Jaime Lannister went up to save a housekeeper who slept up there and he might be... might be... might..."

Before she could finish the story, however, Brienne's tears were upon her. She buried her face in her hands as she sobbed, overcome by the thought that Jaime may have surrendered his life for Mrs Merryweather, or for Cersei. As she cried, Pia drew a comforting arm around her shoulder.

"Oh, Miss Tarth, I am sure they found him," Pia said consolingly. "He's the heir to the Westerlands, the most important man this side of the Kingsroad. If there was a fire, it would be him who was saved over everyone else. I know you must feel sorry that such a man might be hurt - such a handsome man - but I am sure they would save him." Although Brienne knew Pia was speaking the truth, she also knew that Jaime was the type to throw himself onto a pyre if it felt it gave him absolution and after what happened between them, she knew it was what he would want more than anything.

It made Brienne feel terribly, terribly guilty.

"Thank you, Pia, I am sure you are right. I just need some fresh air. I just need..."

The serving woman raised her eyebrows in surprise, as if she had seen something that she had not expected. "Oh, Miss Tarth. Did you _know_ Mr Lannister?"

"No," replied Brienne quickly - she had known his heart and spirit, perhaps, but never his mind - and she did not want Pia getting the wrong impression. "It is just a tragedy. Poor Mr Lannister and the children. They've lost everything... their home..."

Pia gave her a kind smile. "Just like you did, you mean?"

Brienne could not help but think of Jaime's expression when she left him; pleading and desperate but still hoping for more. If she had so chosen, Brienne could have decided to find solace in him, and have discovered that home was not a place with four walls and a roof, but in another's breast. In his heart.

"Like I did," she said, before folding the paper up and putting it to one side. "Like I did."

* * *

The next few weeks were strange. Every day, Brienne would scour the newspapers to find some news of Jaime. Luckily, that he was the heir to the most powerful family in the Westerlands helped her cause, as there were updates every day. Apparently, although Tywin Lannister was staying far away, Tyrion Lannister had returned to take Tommen and Myrcella while the embers of the flames died away. The two bodies were confirmed to be those of two women, which made Brienne sad but full of relief at the same time.

 _At least it wasn't Jaime,_ she thought. _At least he is still here._

As the flowers grew in the meadows in the coming days, the newspapers informed her that Jaime had been injured by the blaze, and that it was doubtful he would ever be the golden lion he once was again. Ruminating on this strange turn of fate, Brienne took to sitting outside and listening to the wind. Part of her wanted to return to him, to be the one moping his brow, dusting his golden hair from his eyes, and feeding him, but she knew it could not be so. She had decided to forsake him due to the weight of the past. She would not let the pressure of the present change her mind.

Even so, at night she dreamt of him. In his spectral form, Jaime would come and lay beside her in bed, warm and strong and smelling of himself. Brienne would reach out to try and hold his hands but would discover that his right was missing. Desperate for answers, she would gaze into his eyes looking for meaning, but be met by two glazed over green orbs that seemed more dead than alive.

_Brienne... Brienne... Brienne... Where are you?_

She would open her eyes to find that he was gone.

Sometimes, Brienne wondered if she could hear Jaime's voice. It pervaded her dreams every night of course, but sometimes she wondered whether he whispered on the wind a thousand questions she did not yet have the answer for. Did he want her back? Was he calling to her? Was she strong enough to stay away forever?

_Brienne... Brienne... Brienne..._

Yet some days she did not hear him at all. The first of those times was one morning when Brienne was having breakfast with Mr Hunt while Pia scrabbled around them, working to get the food served. Brienne kept trying to offer to help, but Pia would shake her head.

"No, no, don't worry Miss Tarth. You just sit there and wait for your food," said Pia, as she started to load up some bacon onto Mr Hunt's plate from the pan. "Would you like any more bacon, Mr Hunt?"

Mr Hunt looked down at his plate, evaluating his options, before waving his hand at Pia. "No thank you. I have plenty. Miss Tarth may want some more though."

Brienne shook her head. "I have enough. Thank you Pod."

Pod gave her a smile of acknowledgement before moving away, leaving Brienne alone with Mr Hunt as they ate their breakfast. As ever, Mr Hunt made little attempt to talk to her. Although he was doing the chivalrous thing by letting her stay here while she got her life straight, he did not usually deign to make conversation with her. As this was one of the few mornings in which Brienne felt disconnected from Jaime, she decided to try and talk to Mr Hunt.

"Will you be travelling away from the keep today, Mr Hunt?"

Surprised that she had asked her a question, it took a few moments for Mr Hunt to meet her blue eyes with his brown ones. "Yes, Miss Tarth," he said, taking a scoop full of beans on his fork. "Mr Caron in Lannisport has a daughter who has a share in his estate when he dies; a thousand dragons a year. She makes an intriguing prospect for a bride."

"Of course," replied Brienne, swiftly. She knew the necessity of marriage - single men were eyed with suspicion - even though she abhorred the blatantly mercantile way that Mr Hunt explained his choice.

It also seemed as if Mr Hunt had nothing to speak of other than Miss Caron's thousand dragons a year, so a quiet settled between him and Brienne, that was only punctuated by the clatter of cutlery against the ceramic plates. Brienne swirled her mushrooms on her plate, trying not to think of the easy chatter she and Jaime had often fallen into back at Casterly Rock. It made the stiltedness with Mr Hunt all the more apparent.

After some time, it seemed to grow too much for Mr Hunt and he attempted to break the silence. "Are you going anywhere today, Miss Tarth?"

"Oh, umm..." said Brienne, rapidly trying to think up a plan so she would not have to find some excuse if Mr Hunt asked her to accompany him for the day. "I... uh..."

"Miss Tarth, I am sorry to interrupt but there is a letter for you."

Thankful for the distraction, Brienne turned to Pod, who entered the kitchen with a letter in his hands. Intrigued, she put down her cutlery and took it from him. It was addressed to her in an unfamiliar hand, so curiosity compelled her to open it here, without retreating to the privacy of her room. Mr Hunt, Pia, and Pod's eyes were all on her as she tore open the envelope.

_Dear Miss Brienne Tarth,_

_My name is Jeor Mormont, Commander of the Night's Watch. I hope you do not mind me writing to you in such difficult circumstances, but it is a pressing issue that only you can help me resolve. In the last week, Endrew Tarth, a long standing member of the Night's Watch died after doing his duty and pledging all the nights of his life to the Order. During the lifetime of members, all their worldly possessions are controlled by the Night's Watch, but on death they are released to their nearest heirs. As far as I can ascertain, you were Endrew's niece and his last living relative. I would therefore ask you to write to me to secure the transfer of one hundred thousand dragons into your name. The address is overleaf. Yours sincerely, J. Mor._

Brienne stared... and stared... and stared.

 _One hundred thousand dragons?_ she thought incredulously. _That can't be true. That can't..._

"What does it say, Miss Tarth?" asked Mr Hunt through a mouthful of toast.

Brienne was so shocked that the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. "I have come into an inheritance of one hundred thousand dragons!"

Pod gasped. Pia let out a little shriek. Mr Hunt finally stopped eating his breakfast.

"You _what?"_

"I have come into an inheritance of one hundred thousand dragons," Brienne repeated, the size of that amount of money slowly dawning on her. "I am a rich heiress!"

Feeling a little weak due to the shock, Brienne did not fight when Mr Hunt leant across the table and snatched the letter from her, before reading it himself. She could only watch as his eyes flicked backwards and forwards as he consumed the text, and Brienne could not help but wonder what he was thinking.

She got her answer when he looked up from the text and gazed straight into her eyes, smiling from ear to ear.

"You are an heiress, Miss Tarth."

There was a glint in his eye that suddenly made Brienne feel as if she were a doe being chased by a hunter, and he was perilously close to sinking his arrow into her tender flesh.

* * *

After the letter arrived from Jeor Mormont, things changed at Hunt's Keep. First and foremost, Mr Hunt spent much more time at home instead of journeying to Lannisport for big social gatherings. Miss Caron was never mentioned again. He would sit with Brienne while she tried to eat her breakfast, asking awkward questions about what she had planned for the day and the weather. Brienne answered him politely, but found it difficult to actually talk to him, as the man only responded in platitudes. He would never be as cutting as Jaime had been, and therefore could never draw her into a verbal swordfight that left her feeling hot and electrified.

"Miss Tarth, I am going to Silverhill today," Mr Hunt announced one day. "Would you like to come with me? We could go shopping?"

Brienne shook her head. "No thank you, Mr Hunt."

"Are you sure?" he asked, leaning close enough that she could smell his cologne. "Now you have come into money, you have the resources to dress like a proper young woman. No heiress should be dressed in rags."

Brienne resented her few clothes being described as _rags,_ but she fixed him with a tight smile anyway, wanting to placate her benefactor. "Oh, I will do Mr Hunt, it is just I have woken up with quite a headache this morning. So I may return to bed to try to shake it. I would greatly appreciate going to town with you another day, however."

Thankfully, Mr Hunt seemed to accept that explanation, so nodded. "Of course."

They did not talk much after that, as Brienne retreated to her room and watched the swallows fly beyond her window. A pair had made a nest in the courtyard, and she could not help but gaze at them with fascination as they tended to their eggs. The male brought over small twigs to reinforce the nest, while the female protected their precious cargo with her life. As their entire existence balanced precariously in the branches of the tree, Brienne's attention was entirely focussed on them.

 _And they stay together,_ she thought. _Even though they could be blown away in a moment. They stay together in spite of their trials and tribulations._

Feeling a little weak, she then went to lay on her bed and tried to shake her headache. Once again, she dreamed of Jaime. This time he was in Casterly Rock, which was awash with green flame and smoke. Brienne could hear him calling out for her, even though she could barely see him.

"Brienne! Oh, my love! Come back to me! Come back to me!"

_Come back to me... come back to me..._

On waking from her dream, Brienne thought she heard his voice in the birdsong. Could he truly be calling her back home, to be with him again? Could she forgive him? Part of him thought she could, especially given Jaime had descended into the flames in order to save his housekeeper and perhaps his sister. Perhaps Jaime had thought the pyre which burned down his deception would immolate his sins.

Perhaps he was right.

Brienne spent the rest of the day listening the birds singing Jaime's name until she roused herself when she heard Mr Hunt return late in the afternoon. As she descended the stairs to meet him and noted that both Pia and Pod were absent. The hallway was very quiet, apart from the sound of Mr Hunt taking off his top hat.

"Miss Tarth," he said, smiling. "Are you feeling better?"

She gave him a reserved nod. "Much. The sleep did me well."

"Good. Would you care to come for a walk with me, if you feel so much better?"

She hesitated. "Should Pia come too? As chaperone?"

"We will not leave sight of the keep," said Mr Hunt. "You trust me, don't you?"

Brienne did not know the answer to that question, but she did not see the problem with her honour being tarnished. It is not like she had any, especially after loving Jaime, even though he had secrets so dark she should have become lost in them. Yet in months since she had last seen him, she had not grown to hate him, but just heard his voice everywhere she went.

_Brienne... Brienne... Brienne..._

"Miss Tarth?"

She turned her attention away from the memory of Jaime and towards Mr Hunt, who was looking at her expectantly.

"Yes, Mr Hunt?"

He smiled at her in amusement. "Would you come for a walk with me?"

Having no reason to say no, she nodded. "Yes, of course I will."

Once she had retrieved her bonnet and gloves, and he his other top hat, they walked for ten minutes into the moors, and Brienne could not help but gaze and the colourful heath and imagined she saw the colours that Jaime was built of there; corn gold, rosy red, and emerald green.

_Brienne..._

She looked up. Out here in the wilds, the voice she heard no longer felt imaginary, but if it had been whispered on the wind. Jaime was calling her, she was sure, and he had been painted into nature for her to search out. It was a message, a sign. It was...

"Miss Tarth, may we speak for a moment?"

Brienne jerked her head to look at him, desperately trying to ignore the sound of Jaime on the wind.

"Yes, Mr Hunt?"

"When asking you to walk with me today, I had no desire to mutely admire nature by your side," said Mr Hunt, his deep brown eyes seeming black in the fading light. "I wished to speak to you."

_Brienne..._

"About what?" she asked, as she gazed up at the sky, where clouds were forming into shapes that were reminiscent of Jaime's smile.

"Us."

She raised an eyebrow. "Us?"

"Yes," replied Mr Hunt, taking a few steps so he could come and stand before Brienne, forcing her into a halt. "You and I."

Brienne looked at him confusedly. She was not used to the phrase _You and I_ being sewn together in reference to herself and Mr Hunt. "Do you wish me to thank you for your hospitality? Because you have been too kind to me; you and Pod and Pia..."

_Brienne..._

"It is a gentleman's duty to do right by damsels in distress," said Hyle, his eyes twinkling. "And you were a damsel in distress. When we found you, it looked as if you were close to death. It was the little I could do to bring you to my home."

"I still thank you greatly for it."

He nodded slowly, as if considering the sincerity of her gratitude, before pressing on. "Although there was only a little kindness that I could do for you then, I can do more for you now."

Brienne felt suddenly nervous. "In what way?"

"Well," said Hyle slowly, reaching out to take one of her gloved hands and turn it palm upwards. "When I went into town today, I wondered if there was anything an accomplished young lady would want, and I came up with something... this."

As he said that final word, he dropped something into her hand. Brienne looked down, surprised, and saw a small gold band with an emerald set in it. It sparkled in the light, the exact colour of Jaime's eyes.

"Mr Hunt..." spluttered Brienne, not sure what to say.

"Please, call me Hyle," he said firmly, as he lifted his other hand to close her fingers around the ring. "The way I see it, Miss Tarth, is that we have a lot to offer one another. I have a house, a keep, and a place that I hope you have already found some type of home in."

She found it difficult to speak. "I have, and you've been so kind..."

 _Brienne,_ called Jaime's voice.

"I am young. I still have many years left in me. I have prospects in business, and as far as I know I am able to father children. I could make you a mother as well as a wife, and give you boys and girls to fill Hunt's Keep, should you so wish."

With Hyle's hand tight around her own, Brienne could feel the awkward shape against her palm and her heart filled with questions. "But what would I give to you, Hyle? Why would you want me as a wife?"

His smile dimmed slightly. "You are intelligent. Accomplished. It is evident you know how to run a household. And your fortune would be enough to keep us and our children happy here, while I try to make my way in the world."

"My fortune? What of Miss Caron's fortune?" Brienne said slowly. Thinking back to Jaime's proposal, there had been no mention of his money or hers, but just his insatiable need for her, the barefaced hunger for his and her bodies to be united and their hearts to be entwined. Hyle's proposal was not nearly so romantic.

"Miss Caron's fortune is naught compared to yours, and economic factors must be important in making marital decisions, must they not?"

 _Brienne,_ Jaime called, mocking that question.

"So must matters of the heart," she replied.

"Yes," concurred Hyle, "but it is silly to suggest a man marries a woman because she is fair of face."

"I am not fair of face."

Hyle shrugged. "Aye, but all women look the same in the dark, and we could do much to help each other. We could climb together. So, what do you say? Will you be my wife?"

As Hyle finished his proposal, a wind whipped up around them. It was full of the scent of the moor - heathers, briars, and flowers - and it seemed to whisper in Jaime's voice, calling her home.

_Brienne... Brienne... Brienne..._

The gods knew he had done wrong. Jaime had fucked his sister, got three children on her, and then tried to atone for it in all the wrong ways. Yet she loved him still; loved him despite the fact he was broken, unhappy, and looking for a new light. His proposal had been full of longing, for an aching desire to hold her and fill her life with joy. In contrast, Hyle offered her money and a castle.

Even though it was Mr Hunt standing right in front of her, it was not his voice that she heard.

_Brienne... Brienne... Brienne..._

The wind blew through her hair, cold and sweet and whispering. Brienne closed her eyes, and for a moment it felt as if there was something beyond herself that she could feel in the earth, in the air, in the endless stretch of life. She was certain that some people would not be able to name it, as it was enigmatic and undecipherable - something hidden and real and cutting and tender - but she could.

Jaime.

"Miss Tarth," said Mr Hunt suddenly, interrupting her mental solitude. "Are you quite alright? You look a little pale."

At his question, Brienne blinked, and it was as if the world came back into focus. Mr Hunt stood before her in his smart suit and his top hat, his brown eyes full of emotions, none of which were love. She had known Mr Hunt for quite a while - six months to be precise - but could not yet list either his virtues or his vices. Brienne thought it was a fault that she could not yet read his sins, and that it would be a feature she would not be able to tolerate in a husband. Jaime's sins were manifold, but in the same way part of his charm. She could no longer hold them against that lost, lonely boy who had had so many wrongs done to him.

_Brienne... Brienne... Brienne..._

"Miss Tarth?" said Hyle, his voice strangely distant.

She finally managed to unlock her words from her throat, but they were not the ones that he wanted to hear.

"I'm sorry, Mr Hunt. I can't be your wife."

He looked surprised. "What?"

"Mr Hunt, I cannot be your wife," she repeated, her voice a little louder, as she deposited the ring back in his hand.

A cloud crossed his expression.

"Why not?" he asked, his brow furrowed. "I need a wife and heirs; you need a husband and a home. Hunt's Keep is enough, and with your inheritance it could be even more. We would be perfect for each other. We would be..."

_Brienne... Brienne... Brienne..._

Unable to listen to him anymore, Brienne turned away from Hyle to turn towards the wind. No matter how much she had tried to block him out, tried to pretend she no longer loved him, wherever Brienne turned she could still hear Jaime's voice as if he was standing right next to her.

_Brienne... my love... Brienne..._

"Miss Tarth, are you quite well? You look ill. Perhaps we should go back to the keep..."

"I'm sorry, Mr Hunt. I have to go. I have to..."

_Brienne... Brienne... Brienne..._

As Brienne staggered away from Mr Hunt, he began to call her name. "Brienne, where are you going? You can't leave! The weather is poor, and..."

Brienne had no answer for him that would have made sense; she had to follow his voice, she had to follow where her lover called.

"Jaime..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! As ever, I would love to hear what you think in the form of comments and kudo :)


	7. Wrap My Existence About You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne returns to Casterly Rock to face Jaime...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few stolen lines from Jane Eyre here.
> 
> Brief discussion of suicide in this chapter: you have been warned.

Brienne barely noticed how long it took to return to Casterly Rock, as her mind and heart were full of only one person, whose soul had been calling to her all the way from Hunt's Keep.

_Brienne... Brienne... Brienne..._

_Jaime... Jaime... Jaime..._

It was true that Jaime had done bad things and had not been honest about it, but the months apart had taught Brienne that she hardly cared. When he had told her the truth about Cersei, Jaime had seemed so ashamed of himself that she had momentarily thought he would crumble with the weight of his confession. It was for the shame she loved him, for his desire to be better. In the months since the revelation had broken them apart, he had been trying his best to make amends; raising money for widows' organisations, donating to orphanages... until the fire.

When Brienne arrived back at Casterly Rock, she went to stand in the front courtyard and was taken aback by the extent of the damage. The grainy black-and-white photograph in the newspaper had not done the destruction justice. Gone was the beautiful garden full of nightingales in which Jaime had proposed, the ballroom where he had danced with Margaery Tyrell, and the little sept in which Brienne had nearly married him. All the upper floors were in ruins and only the dower house in the grounds was untouched by the flames. Brienne felt tears well in her eyes at the sight of the place of so many memories - good and bad - being wiped from the map, and she went to dab her eyes with her sleeve.

"Excuse me, Miss, but I could not help but wonder if you would like a handkerchief?"

Pulling her hands from her face, Brienne looked around for the source of the voice. It took a few seconds of confused blinking to eventually spot the very short man with the unsightly scar who stood by her side, extending a handkerchief up to her in his stubby-fingered hand.

"Thank you," she replied, taking the proffered handkerchief from him, "you are very kind."

He gave her a roguish grin. "I don't know about that. Cunning and clever, yes, but never kind."

Brienne frowned, finding it a little difficult to compute what the man had just said to her. For most of her life, she had been living off the happiness caused by people calling her kind, because they were the only compliments she ever received. It was therefore a little strange that this man was pushing against her attempt at sincerity. Brienne thought that he looked an outsider like her, so would hoard kind words like a dragon with gold. Nevertheless, in spite of his denial of her kindness, he continued to smile at her, and Brienne could not help but be charmed.

"I am sorry to have to tell you this, but you _are_ trespassing on Lannister family property - despite there barely being any property left - and that you are probably breaking some law or another," the man said, gazing up at her. He squinted as if looking into the sun. "So I will have to ask you for your name."

"What right do you have policing Lannister property?" she asked a little sharply. "I don't mean to be rude, but you seem a little short to be a gamekeeper."

The man let out an amused chuckle. "I am not the gamekeeper; there you are quite correct."

"Then who are you?"

The man surveyed her for a few moments, as if weighing her up, before speaking. "My name is Tyrion Lannister. I am the son of Tywin Lannister and younger brother of Jaime, the heir. _That_ is why I have a right. Now, pray tell, who are you?"

It was somewhat of a surprise to Brienne that she found herself talking to Jaime's long absent brother, so she struggled to formulate a response immediately. Surely Tyrion knew how Jaime was, and if he had heard her beloved calling her name as she had all the way over at Hunt's Keep.

"I... I am..." began Brienne, trapped between a longing so deep it hurt and a well-trained desire to always remain hidden. "I used to work here. I just wanted to see what had happened to the place after I heard about... the fire."

Her voice trailed off but, luckily, Tyrion was the talkative sort. "You used to work here? That's funny. I do not remember you."

"I did not work here long," Brienne confessed, gazing at the ruins of her former life. "And I only left a few months ago. You were always away when I worked at the Rock."

Tyrion narrowed his eyes at her, as if he had just sensed something about her that she had not yet vocalised. "What did you work as when you were here?" he asked, his tone light and airy, yet hiding some definite purpose. "A scullery maid? A chimney sweep? Alas, I fail to see how you would have fit up the chimney..."

"I was a governess, sir," she said, not quite able to spell out the whole truth. "For Master Tommen and Miss Myrcella."

At her answer, he nodded, his smile fading. The truth settled across the conversation like a shroud.

"Ah. Then you must be Miss Tarth."

"Indeed," she replied, looking down at her hands. "The very same."

"If you are looking for Jaime, he will be somewhere in the gardens," said Tyrion, as if he could read her mind. "I think he likes to listen to the birds sing."

"What makes you think I am looking for Jaime?" she snapped. Brienne had lived her whole life closely guarding her heart. It scared her to think that it was now so easily read by a man she had just met.

Although she was not looking at the younger Mr Lannister, she could hear his smile as he spoke. "The fact you are here. If you didn't want to see my brother again, you would never have come back."

At once, all Brienne's pain and longing rose within her, turning into a lump of grief that lodged itself in her throat. She took in a steadying breath, determined not to cry, even as tears swam before her eyes.

"How is he?" she asked weakly, her voice cracking.

"Not good," replied Tyrion. His tone was darkened by the truth. "On the night of the fire, he got everyone in the building out apart from Mrs Merryweather the housekeeper and... and... _her._ "

At his cowardly use of pronouns, Brienne gazed at Tyrion fiercely. "I assume you mean Cersei."

There was no need to lie anymore. He nodded. "Yes. She was in the attic. He thought she did not deserve to die in the flames. I would have left her, but Jaime has always been noble like that." A silence follow, so deep and dark that Brienne thought she would have no hope to ever traverse it. However, she eventually succeeded in compelling Tyrion to give her the rest of the story, mostly through an imploring look. "He went up to the attic to find her, only to discover that Mrs Merryweather was already dead. Cersei had attacked her while lighting the wildfire... and now she was dancing."

"Dancing?"

"Yes," said Tyrion, in a type of bewildered bemusement. "She was dancing, singing that she could fly away and become a dragon if only the flames would engulf her. Jaime tried to get her to leave, but the only way out was through the window and onto the roof. And once she got there, Cersei jumped."

Brienne's stomach swooped in spite of Tyrion's light tone. She could barely believe it. Although Cersei had been a living, breathing human being, Brienne had often imagined her as a ghost, or a wrathful phantom from some long forgotten life. That she had extinguished herself in such a violent manner was therefore horrifying.

"She... she... killed herself?"

"Yes," said Tyrion emotionlessly. "It was perhaps not a surprise to those of us that knew her that Cersei would destroy herself in the end. She's been building her funeral pyre since the day she was born."

"And Jaime?" Brienne asked, her mind filled with images of him on the roof of Casterly Rock, a black shadow standing over the fiery gates of hell into which his sister had just plunged. She hoped he had grown wings and learnt how to fly.

Although Tyrion had spoken very lightly about his sister's death, whatever happened to his brother clearly weighed on his mind. "He just escaped from the fire with his life but lost much of himself in the process." For a horrible moment, Brienne was concerned Jaime had lost his mind and was no longer the man she knew, but Tyrion did not keep her in misery for long. "He lost his sight and his right hand to the flames."

If Brienne was a weaker woman, she might have collapsed.

"Is he in pain?"

Tyrion shrugged sadly. "Considerable, but I think it might be more of the heart and soul than the body. The doctors give him laudanum for his physical pain, but there is nothing they can do about his shame and guilt."

"What does he need to be ashamed of?" asked Brienne, outraged on Jaime's behalf. "He tried to save Ms Merryweather and his sister. He tried to do the right thing..."

"Jaime feels his physical injuries are a punishment for what he did to you and also, more distantly, what he did to Cersei. He has lived a bad life and deserves to suffer for it. I told him that was melodramatic - the doctors have said he will regain his sight in time, after all - but you know Jaime. If he can cut himself, he will."

At the thought of Jaime - flagellating and broken - Brienne could no longer hold herself above the fray. "Can I see him?"

Tyrion nodded. "Of course. He would love to see you. Just... be prepared. He is not the man he once was."

* * *

At Tyrion's instruction, Brienne Tarth found Jaime Lannister in the ruined garden of Casterly Rock, where the nightingales no longer sang.

If she had loved him solely for the beauty of his body, Brienne would have been horrified by the sight before her. Jaime was perched on a bench that had clearly been brought to the burnt garden for his pleasure, watching the world with unseeing eyes that were strangely clouded over. He now had a beard and his hair was all grown out, the golden curls skimming his shoulders. His pain was writ large in his appearance.

As Brienne approached, she noticed he had a walking stick and dog, who Brienne had been told that Jaime had bought as a guide. The little pup was sitting in Jaime's lap until Brienne drew too close for comfort, and he leapt up and started barking.

"Honour," said Jaime firmly, which caused the dog to draw back towards him. "Good boy... good boy..."

As Jaime's tone turned tender, Honour leapt up next to him once more, and his master leant across to pet him with his remaining hand. That the dog wagged his tail under Jaime's clumsy fingers made Brienne smile. Her beloved was accidentally kind much of the time yet thought himself a villain.

Wanting to be closer to him, Brienne stepped forward. The moments she did so, a charred piece of kindling cracked beneath her foot.

Jaime looked up, blinking unseeingly. "Who's there?"

Brienne did not know what to say. How could she explain that she had heard his voice from miles away and had come when he called? As she moved towards him, Jaime sat up, clearly trying to appear big in the face of this phantom he could sense but not see.

"Who's _there_?"

He only stilled when she reached out and put her hand on his severed wrist, touching the half healed, bandaged wound as tenderly as she could. At the moment of contact, Jaime's unseeing eyes widened as he reached out to her with his good hand, his fingers dancing across her skin. Brienne's breath caught in her throat.

"This hand..." he whispered, his longing palpable. "Your hand... _you..._ "

Brienne lifted his fingers from her wrist and brought them to her face. She hoped her familiar countenance could say what she could not bring herself to, so she did not stop when his fingers skirted down the bump in her nose and over her plump lips.

Although he could not see her, Jaime's eyes were illuminated by the brightest light she had ever beheld.

"Miss Tarth," he breathed, as if she were the most precious thing in the world. His hand rested on the corner shared by her neck and shoulder, as if measuring the shape of her. "Brienne..."

"Jaime, I am come back to you," she said, her words finally able to break through the well of emotion in her chest.

At her exclamation, he stood up, his eyes shining. Brienne could not help but cup his face, feeling his soft beard beneath her fingers. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, so Brienne tried to sooth him.

"You've grown a beard," she remarked, making sure her smile was palpable in her voice.

"Do you like it?" Jaime asked hopefully. "Or shall I get rid of it?"

"No, it becomes you. You look so handsome. Although maybe your hair needs a trim. Would you let me cut it for you?."

Jaime leant into her touch, surrendering to both smiles and tears. "You would do that for me?"

"I would, my love. I would. I wish to be with you. I wish to look after you. Always."

Seemingly overcome by emotion Jaime surged forward, pressing his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, as if to absorb the feel of her beneath his skin.

"I wish I could see you," he said, his breath hot on her lips. "I long for you."

It seemed such a strange thing to say to Brienne, because no one had ever understood her like him. Not even herself.

"You do see me," she said. "And I see you."

In the distance, Brienne heard a nightingale sing as Jaime leant into kiss her. Her mouth opened in a heartbeat, her tongue searching out his. Its tune was so beautiful, so sweet, that Brienne wondered whether it was all in her imagination, given that the fire had destroyed the garden. Yet she got her answer when she broke the kiss and looked in Jaime's eyes.

There was so much joy to be found there, Brienne knew in a single, poignant moment it was real.

* * *

A pair of nightingales flew outside the chamber the day Arthur Lannister was born, singing a song that Brienne knew well.

After the midwives had cleaned the babe up, they place him in Brienne's arms, and she could do nothing but smile.

"Can you send for Jaime?" she asked one of the tired looking midwives. "He will want to see his son."

The midwife furrowed her brown concernedly. "It is not good to have a man in the birthing chamber, Mrs Lannister. The old women say it is unlucky."

"Still, Jaime will wish to see him. Send for him."

She would not deny him the first look at their son. Jaime had slowly regained his sight in the months after their wedding, which was all for the good. When Brienne had found herself in her marital bed with her new husband on that first night, she had had to tentatively instruct him how to touch her because he feared he would hurt her in his blind clumsiness. Jaime had worried that he did not satisfy her, but she had valiantly reassured him that the feeling of his fingers inside her set her on fire. With such sweet assurances to guide him, he had grown in confidence as his sight was returned to him, and now he was to get the utter joy of seeing the son he could truly claim as his own.

The midwife returned a few minutes later with Jaime, who seemed tense and agitated until the moment he saw Brienne holding Arthur. An infectious smile broke across his face, and he ran towards them both in a heartbeat, before enveloping them both in his arms.  
  
"I think he looks like you," grinned Brienne as Jaime kissed her temple. "Look at that gold hair... and that nose."

Jaime was too happy to object to her teasing.

"Is this a dream?" he asked, stars in his eyes.

Brienne smiled. "If it is, I wish to never wake up."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I've finally finished this fic. Thanks so much to everyone who has read it. I am so happy people have liked this, and I appreciated every single comment!


End file.
